
SELECT ENGLISH CLASSICS 




Qass. 
Book. 



I S^9 9 




IDISTRICTCOLVABIA 

^ ■ jiWiuuwiMtfjmmn oiiiiiii iwiiBiii — owwBgwi iwm i wu i nw iii mn 



CLASS. 
BOOK. 



PRESENTED BY 



ijm.?> 



VOL. 



Select lEnglieb Classlca 



THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES 



SELECTIONS AND EXTRACTS FOR READING 
AND STUDY 



BY 



JAMES BALDWIN, Ph.D. 

Author of " Six Centuries of English Poetry,' 
" The Book Lover," etc. 




SILVER, BURDETT & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 

New York IIOSION Chicago 

1899 



,Aa5 



Copyright, 1893, 
By silver, BURDETT & COMPANY. 



By Transfer 

D. C. Public Library 

MAR 2 5 1939 



NorhjooH 53reBS : 

J. S. Gushing Si. Co. — Berwick & Smith. 
Boiiton, Mass., U.S.A. 



WTTHDRAWN. 

47499 




This is the second volume of a series of Select English 
Classics which the pubhshers have in course of preparation. 
The series will include an extensive variety of selections 
chosen from the different departments of English literature, 
and arranged and annotated for the use of classes in schools. 
It will embrace, among other things, representative specimens 
from all the best English writers, whether of poetry or of 
prose ; selections from English dramatic literature, especially 
of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries ; choice extracts 
from the writings of the great essayists ; selections from 
famous English allegories ; a volume of elegies and elegiacal 
poetry ; studies of English prose fiction, with illustrative speci- 
mens, etc. Each volume will contain copious notes, critical, 
explanatory, and biographical, besides the necessary vocabu- 
laries, glossaries, and indexes ; and the series when complete 
will present a varied and comprehensive view of all that is 
best in English literature. For supplementary reading, as 
well as for systematic class instruction, the books will possess 
many peculiarly valuable as well as novel features ; while their 
attractive appearance, combined with the sterling quality of 
their contents, will commend them for general reading and 
make them desirable acquisitions for every library. 

3 



^^^-^-'^-«-<M5'^^-'-^ ><^-iAjo(vdljL/X.C«XL\jL 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Fore Word : 

Imagination and Fancy. — Personification of Nature. — Origin 
of Myth. — Origin of Allegory. — Bible Allegories. — Alle- 
gory of the Trees. — Allegory of the Vine. — The True 
Vine. — Greek Allegories. — Prayers. — Hera and Sleep. — 
The Choice of Hercules. — Anglo-Saxon Allegories. — The 
" Physiologus." — The " Gesta Romanorum." — The Age of 

Allegory . ......... 7 

The Vision of William concerning Piers Ploughman . .17 

Conscience, the Preacher ........ 28 

Envy ............ 30 

The Tower of Truth . . . . . . . . -3' 

The Advice of Hunger S3 

^The Romaunt of the Rose 34 

Hypocrisy . .......... 40 

The Story of Narcissus ........ 41 

False Semblant no Hermit ........ 43 

The God of Love ......... 44 

May a Man Beg? 45 

The Court of Love 46 

Rosiall 4S 

May-Day and the Birds 49 

The Flower and the Leaf 51 

A Morning Walk 53 

L'Envoie ........... 55 

The Cuckowe and the Nightingale 56 

4 

\ 



CONTENTS. S 

PAGE 

The Parlament of Foules 59 

Description of a Forest . ....... 62 

Catalogue of Birds . 63 

The House of Fame 66 

Hall of the Goddess of Fame 67 

Domus Dedali .......... 69 

William Dunbar and His Allegories 71 

The Thistle and the Rose . . . . . . . > 1^ 

The Golden Terge 73 

The Allegories of Stephen Hawes 76 

The Temple of Glass ......... 76 

The Pastime of Pleasure ........ 77 

Douglas, Lyndesay, and Barclay 80 

The Palice of Honour ........ 80 

King Hart 81 

A Desert Terrible ......... 82 

The Complaint of Papingo 83 

The Shyp of Fooles 85 

The Mirror for Magistrates 86 

The Purple Island. Phineas Fletcher 90 

Parthenia . . . . . . . . . . .91 

-^The Faerie Queene. Edmund Spenser 92 

First Adventure of the Red Cross Knight ..... lOO 

Una and the Lion . . . . . . . . .ill 

The Procession of the Passions . . . . . . .114 

Duessa's Descent into Hell . . . . . . .120 

The Garden of Proserpina . . . . . . . .124 

The Garden of Adonis . . . . . . . .126 

The Bower of Bliss ......... 131 

Flori'mel and the Witch's Son . . . . . . -135 

Colin Clout and His Fair Lassie ...... 140 

Notes 147 

Glossary . . . . . . . . . . -154 



6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

V The Pilgrim's Progress. John Bunyan 156 

The Allegory and its Author. H. A. Taine , . . .156 
The Story of The Pilgrim's Progress, y. A. Froude . . . i6o 
The Beginning of the Journey . . . . , . .180 

The Interpreter's House . . . , . . . .189 
Vanity Fair .......... 196 

The Valley of the Shadow of Death 201 

The Celestial City 205 

The Conclusion .......... 214 

Notes 215 

The Vision of Mirza. Joseph Addison 217 

The Paradise of Fools. Thomas Parnell .... 224 

The Castle of Indolence. James Thomson .... 230 

The Land of Drowsiness 231 

The Interior of the Castle 236 

Sir Industry 239 

The Journey of a Day. Samuel Johnson .... 246 

The Passions. William Collins 251 

A Parable against Persecution ........ 256 

The Hill of Science. Dr. John Aikin 259 



Fables : 

The Oak and the Briar. Edmund Spenser 

The Country Mouse. Abraham Cowley . 

The Beasts' Confession. Jonathan Swift 

The Man and the Flea. John Gay .... 

The Hare with Many Friends. John Gay 

The Fox at the Point of Death. John Gay 

Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie. Robert Burns 

The Twa Dogs. Robert Burns .... 

The Retired Cat. William Cowper .... 



Index 



264 
269 
272 
279 
281 
283 
28s 
288 
297 

301 



FORE WORD. 



A COMPANY of open-eyed, wonder-loving children are walking on 
the shore of the sea. It is the spring-time ; the hour is early morn- 
ing ; the air is redolent with the odor of flowers, and musical with 
the songs of birds. To these children the world is young, and 
nature, like their own lives, is full of sweet and hidden mysteries. 
Before them stretches the great sea — a mighty kingdom concealing 
many a beauty and many a terror — in the contempla- 
tion of which their fancy is invited to roam unlimited a™d^Fancv'^ 
and unrestrained. Behind them rise mighty mountains, 
symbols of king-like power and sublime repose. Above them bends 
the blue sky-dome, beautiful and fathomless, suggestive of the pro- 
tection and care which the All-Father bestows upon his children. 
There is nothing that comes within their vision which does not tend 
to kindle emotion, to arouse enthusiasm or to encourage the imagi- 
nation. To their understanding the sea is deep, the mountains are 
high, the heavens are glorious, the world is very fair. What more 
should they seek to know? What would they gain by exchanging 
their childish fancies for the surer methods of the exact sciences, 
the application of measurements, or a knowledge of mathematics ? 
The sun rising above the mountain-tops is a golden chariot ; the 
rustling of the leaves in the morning breeze is the whispering of 
dryads among the branches ; the murmur of the waves beating upon 
the shore is the song of sea-nymphs deep down in their ocean caves. 
Compared with the pleasures derived from such fancies, of what 
avail is a knowledge of physics, or a study of economics, or all the 
wisdom which the school-books contain? Then, too, the minds of 
these children are attuned in harmony with nature's music ; they 
are inspired with lofty thoughts, and the utterances which leap 
spontaneously from their lips are clothed in the garb of trae poetry, 
— poetry such as the rules of rhetoric and the principles of studied 
art have never created, and yet full of melody, grace, and beauty. 

So was it with the remote ancestors of our race who lived while 
yet the air of the world's morning was crisp with sweet imaginings, 
and the music of the spheres still echoed upon the earth. Like 

7 



8 FORE WORD. 

wondering children they imagined the existence of strange lands 
beyond the mountains, and peopled them with creatures of their 
own fancy. They heard spirits in the wood and on the shore, and 
saw them in the clouds. The mysteries of creation, of life and 
death, and of their own possible relations to beings higher than 
themselves inspired them with awe — with dread of things baneful, 
with love for things beneficent. And when they perceived what 
seemed to them a living truth they gave it a concrete form — 
preserved the idea as a word-picture — for as yet they had not the 
power to understand purely abstract thoughts, much less the ability 
to give them expression. To the forces of nature they applied 
names, and to these names they attached many mythical stories — 
"poetical expressions of the oldest forms of truth." Observing that 
all living beings derive nourishment from the soil, they personified 
the Earth and spoke of her as the loving Mother of 
of Nature gods and men. Believing that from the air and sky 

comes the spirit of life which animates what would 
otherwise be senseless dust, they spoke of the fatherhood of the 
heavens, and, in Greece, they personified it as Uranos. The phe- 
nomena of rain, hail, and snow were poetically described as the 
hundred-handed children of heaven — the furrower, the smiter, the 
presser. Day was a beneficent being by whom light was borne to 
mortals. Night was likewise a friend to toil-worn man, and she 
appeared to him wrapped in a sable cloud and carrying Sleep in her 
arms. But among other primitive folk a different story was told. 
Night, they said, was a giantess, dark and swarthy, who rode in a 
car drawn by a restless steed, the foam from whose bits ofttimes 
covered the grass and the trees with dew. And Day was the son of 
Night ; and the glistening mane of the horse which he drove in his 
unceasing journeys round the world lighted all the earth and the 
heavens with its beams. 

When storm-clouds obscured the sky, and the thunder rolled, 
and the lightnings flashed, some said that mighty Thor was battling 
with the giants in mid-air and hurling his dread hammer into their 
ranks. Others said that Zeus was brandishing his darts on high 
and uttering his thunder among the clouds. When the mountain- 
meadows were green with long grass, and the corn was yellow for 
the reapers' sickles, these spoke of bright-tressed Demeter, the mis- 
tress of the fields ; and those sang of golden-haired Sif, the bounti- 
ful queen of the harvests. 

It was easy to extend almost indefinitely this poetic method of 
assigning to natural objects and natural manifestations some of the 
attributes possessed or exhibited by human beings. One personi- 



FORE WORD. 9 

fication suggested another, and the fancy was constantly discovering 
new domains. It was but a step from the natural to the supernat- 
ural. The earth, the air, the sea, were peopled with myriads of 
unseen intelligences, and over them all, the gods pre- 
sided. And so, out of what in the beginning were Myths 
simple poetic descriptions of well-known phenomena, 
there grew in time a system of myths upon which the religious faith 
of the people was based. But this was not all. Alongside with these 
poetic conceptions of nature and nature's manifestations, there were 
ideas also of the mental and moral attributes and characteristics 
of the human mind. Love, hope, fear, malice, rage, revenge, 
wisdom, strength, courage, justice, and whatever had reference to 
the duties or obligations of men, or to their passions, were, in 
imagination, creatures of flesh and blood clothed with these attri- 
butes of humanity. Thus it was that Myth and Alle- 
gory, twin daughters of Imagination and Fancy, were Aiie^° ° 
born in the early dawn of the world's morning, when 
the sun-rays of intelligence were first beginning to illumine the 
human mind. 

In the oldest literature of every people Allegory is one of the 
most prominent elements. Sometimes it is hopelessly intermingled 
and confounded with that which is purely mythical ; at other times 
it stands out clear and distinct as the figurative representation of 
some vital truth. As a method of giving instruction, or of impress- 
ing important facts upon the mind, it was especially esteemed 
among the Oriental nations. Nor were abstract ideas alone sub- 
mitted to this allegorical treatment. Not only were truth and 
error, courage and fear, vice and virtue, pictured as living, intelli- 
gent beings, but real persons were frequently portrayed allegori- 
cally in such a manner as to present, either for admiration or for 
ridicule, some special traits of character or some peculiar conditions 
of life. 

In the Old Testament of the Scriptures are numerous examples 
of allegory. Indeed, there have been among Christian theologians 
those who affirmed that no small portion of the Bible is an allegory 
which, properly interpreted, discovers a meaning more 
spiritual and more profound than is to be derived from Allegories 
any literal interpretation of the text. In the early ages 
of the church this view was maintained with great vigor by the 
Alexandrine Christians, and especially by their famous leader and 
representative, Origen. These taught that "the Mosaic accovmt of 
the Garden of Eden was allegorical ; that Paradise only symbolized 
a high primeval spirituality ; that the fall consisted in the loss of 



10 FORE WORD. 

such through spiritual and not material temptation ; and that the 
expulsion from the Garden lay in the soul's being driven out of its 
region of original purity." But it is not for us to enter into the 
discussion of theological problems. That there are allegorical pas- 
sages in the earlier chapters of the Book of Genesis no one can 
deny. Such, for example, is the description of the trees in Eden — 
'"the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of 
knowledge of good and evil." So, doubtless, also is that beautiful 
and striking passage describing the discovery of our guilty first 
parents after their transgression, when " they heard the voice of the 
Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day : and Adam 
and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God 
amongst the trees of the garden." 

But to consider the more obvious examples of allegory in the 
Scriptures let us call to mind the short parables quoted here and 
there in the Old Testament, or used so often and so effectively in 
the New Testament as the means of illustrating some declaration of 
doctrine, or of giving clearness and emphasis to some statement of 
universal truth. The earliest of such parables is the beautiful alle- 
gory of the trees which Jerub-baal related to the Shechemites. 
Being obliged to flee for his life from his brother who had usurped 
the kingdom that was rightfully his own, he stood one day upon 
the top of Mount Gerizim, in the sight of the people who had 
deserted his cause, and told them this fable : — 

" The trees went forth on a time to anoint a king over them ; 
and they said unto the olive tree, 'Reign thou over us.' 

" But the olive tree said unto them. ' Should I leave 
the^Trees° "^^ fatness, wherewith by me they honor God and man, 
and go to be promoted over the trees?' 

"And the trees said to the fig tree, 'Come thou, and reign 
over us.' 

" But the fig tree said unto them, ' Should I forsake my sweet- 
ness and my good fruit, and go to be promoted over the trees ? ' 

" Then said the trees unto the vine. ' Come thou, and reign 
over us.' 

"And the vine said unto them. 'Should I leave my wine, which 
cheereth God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees.'" 

"Then said all the trees unto the bramble, 'Come thou, and 
reign over us.' 

"And the bramble said unto the trees. ' If in truth ye anoint me 
king over you, then come and put your trust in my shadow ; and 
if not let fire come out of the bramble, and devour the cedars of 
Lebanon.'" 



FORE WORD. 11 

The parable contained in tiie 8oth Psalm, wherein the house of 
Israel is likened to a vine, is also worthy of study : — 

" Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt ; Allegory of 

Thou hast cast out the heathen, the Vine. 

And planted it. 

Thou preparedst room before it, 
And didst cause it to take deep root, 
And it filled the land. 

The hills were covered with the shadow of it. 
And the boughs thereof were like the goodly cedars. 
She sent out her boughs unto the sea, 
And her branches unto the river. 
Why hast thou then broken down her hedges. 
So that all they that pass by the way do pluck her ? 
The boar out of the wood doth waste it. 
And the wild beast of the field doth devour it. 
Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts : 
Look down from heaven, and behold, and visit this vine, 
And the vineyard which thy right hand hath planted, 
And the branch that thou madest strong for thyself." 

And so Christ, speaking to his disciples, likens himself to a 
vine : — 

"* I am the true vine and my Father is the husbandman. Every 
branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away ; and every 
branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may 
bring forth more fruit. ... As the branch cannot y.® "'^ 
bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine ; no more 
can ye, except ye abide in me. I am the vine, ye are the branches. 
He that abideth in me and I in him, the same bringeth forth much 
fruit : for without me ye can do nothing." 

In the poetry of the Greeks allegory and myth go hand in hand. 
Athene counsels wisdom ; Ares leads in war ; Aphrodite inspires 
love ; Heracles symbolizes strength ; the Fates weave 
the woof of destiny ; the Furies relentlessly pursue the AHe^eories 
evil-doer. Now and then, however, a pure allegory, 
freed from the entanglements of mythical embodiment, may be 
found. Observe, for example, the manner in which old Phoinix, in 
the " Iliad," personifies Prayers and their influence : — 

" Prayers of penitence are daughters of Zeus, halting and wrinkled 
and of eyes askance, that have their tasks withal to go in the steps 
of Sin. For Sin is strong and fleet of foot, wherefore 
she far outnmneth all Prayers, and goeth before them 
over all the earth, making men fall, and Prayers follow behind to 
heal the harm. Now Whosoever reverenceth Zeus's daughters when 
they draw near, him they greatly bless and hear his petitions ; but 



12 FORE WORD. 

when one denieth them and stiffly refuseth, then depart they and 
make prayer unto Zeus the son of Kronos that Sin may come upon 
such an one, that he may fall and pay the price." 

The story of Hera and Sleep in the XlVth Book of the "Iliad" 
is a good example of the intermingling of Allegory and Myth : — 

" Then Hera came to Lemnos, the city of godlike Thoas. There 
she met Sleep, the brother of Death,i ^^d clasped her hand in his, 
and spake and called his name : ' Sleep, lord of all 
Hera and gods and of all men, if ever thou didst hear my word, 

obey me again even now, and I will be grateful to thee 
always. Lull me, I pray thee, the shining eyes of Zeus beneath his 
brows, so soon as I have laid me down by him in love. And gifts 
I will give to thee, even a fair throne, imperishable forever, a golden 
throne, that Hephaistos the Lame, mine own child, shall fashion 
skilfully, and will set beneath it a footstool for the feet, for thee to 
set thy shining feet upon, when thou art at a festival.' . . . 

" So she spake, and Sleep was glad, and answered and said : 
* Come now, swear to me by the inviolable water of Styx, and with 
one of thy hands grasp the fertile earth and with the other the shin- 
ing sea, that all may be witnesses to us, even all the gods below 
that are with Kronos, that verily thou wilt give me one of the 
younger Graces, even Pasithea, that myself do long for all my days.' 

" So spake he, nor did she disobey, the white-armed goddess 
Hera ; she sware as he bade her, and called all the gods by name, 
even those below Tartaros that are called Titans. But when she 
had sworn and ended that oath, the twain left the citadel of Lemnos, 
and of Imbros, clothed on in mist, and swiftly they accomplished 
the way. To many-fountained Ida they came, the mother of wild 
beasts, to Lekton, where first they left the sea, and they twain fared 
above the dry land, and the topmost forest waved beneath their feet. 
There Sleep halted, ere the eyes of Zeus beheld him, and alighted 
on a tall pine-tree, the loftiest pine that then in all Ida rose through 
the near to the upper air. Therein sat he, hidden by the branches 
of the pine, in the likeness of the shrill bird that on the mountains 
the gods call chalkis, but men kymiiidis.'''' 

A well-known allegory, so modern in spirit that it might be mis- 
taken for the work of a nineteenth-century moralist, is the story of 
the choice of Heracles written by the famous Greek sophist, Pro- 
dicus, about 400 B.C., and preserved for us in the works of Xeno- 
phon. When young Heracles was approaching manhood he found 

1" How wonderful is Death ! 
Death and his brother Sleep." 

— Shelley, Queen Mat, 



FORE WORD. 13 

himself standing one day at tlie meeting of two roads, one of which 
he must needs travel. But as both appeared equally attractive he 
was unable at first to decide which he should take. 
Observing them more closely, however, he perceived gprcules''^^ ° 
that one was apparently full of obstacles and that it led 
over barren hills and desert ways straight towards a distant range 
of mountains. The other wound in and out among the trees, or 
followed pleasant watercourses through green meadows and shaded 
dells, and at last disappeared from view. While the young man 
stood hesitating, two women appeared before him. Both were 
beautiful ; but, while one was adorned with purity, modesty, and 
discretion, the other was bold and full of blandishments, and mere- 
tricious in appearance and dress. The latter, whose name was 
Pleasure, began at once to persuade him to follow the easier of the 
two roads, and she promised to lead him through pleasant ways 
directly to the attainment of every desire. " Come with me," she 
said, "and yours shall be a life of ease, unvexed with care, and 
never burdened with labor." Then the other lady, whose name was 
Virtue, began to speak. She first reminded the young man of his 
noble ancestry and of his own natural endowments, and told him 
that the gifts of the gods are bestowed only to those who truly 
deserve them. "The road which I would have you follow is steep 
and beset with obstacles, but if you would have eternal fame you 
must not shun the toil which is necessary for its attainment." Then 
Pleasure began to dilate upon the difficulties of the road which 
Virtue would have him follow ; but Virtue replied by again admon- 
ishing him that there is no true excellence without labor, and that if 
he would enjoy the favor of Heaven he must make himself worthy 
of that favor. Thereupon Heracles decided without further hesita- 
tion to follow the path to which Virtue pointed him. "The road of 
labor and of honest effort shall be mine," he cried, " and I will 
shrink from no task which duty imposes upon me, or which the 
immortal gods desire me to perform." 

The literature of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors is particularly rich 
in allegory. Crude and childish notions, facts imperfectly under- 
stood, current superstitions, fanciful interpretations of natural phe- 
nomena, are all curiously commingled in stories manifestly designed 
to illustrate religious or moral truths. The allegory of 
the " Phoenix," probably the work of the Northumbrian ^ufgories''.*"^ 
poet Cynewulf, is a poem of no little beauty, grace, and 
harmony, in which the writer portrays, under the similitude of a phoe- 
nix, the life, trials, and triumphs of the faithful Christian. Although 
doubtless suggested by the Latin poem, " Carmen de Phoenice," of 



14 FORE WORD. 

Lactantius (a.d. 260-325), it is so full of original thought that it 
can scarcely be regarded as a paraphrase, much less as a translation. 

The story of "The Whale," also ascribed to Cynewulf, is an 
allegorical poem intended to convey a warning against hypocrisy, 
and a caution to beware of deceptive appearances. '* The whale 
calleth the little fishes around him by the sweet odor of his mouth ; 
then suddenly around the prey the grim gums crash together. So 
it is to every man who often and negligently in this stormy world 
lets himself be deceived by sweet odor. Hell's barred doors have 
not return or escape, or any outlet for those who enter, any more 
than the fishes sporting in the ocean can turn back from the whale's 
grip." 

The name " Physiologus " was sometimes applied in a general 
way to these examples of moralized natural history. It was also 
sometimes used ignorantly in reference to their sup- 
1 ^ g ,.^^^' posed originator. Such stories were employed by 
religious teachers, priests, and monks, as the easiest 
and most natural means of explaining practical truths to their un- 
tutored hearers or disciples. The origin of these stories may be 
traced to the Christian Fathers of the fourth century. The fabulous 
qualities of certain animals were made to represent some feature of 
human experience, and from the results attendant upon the former, 
the ingenious fabulist derived rules for the regulation of the latter. 
A " Physiologus " ascribed sometimes to Bishop Theobaldus, and 
written about the beginning of the thirteenth century, is a notable 
example of this kind of allegorical teaching. It is called " the Eng- 
lish Bestiary,"' and describes the supposed distinguishing qualities 
of twelve familiar creatures, — the lion, eagle, serpent, ant, stag, wolf, 
spider, whale, siren, elephant, turtle-dove, and panther, — and from 
each of these the writer derives some practical moral application. 
A thirteenth creature, the culver, or pigeon, is described in eighteen 
lines which are added as a kind of supplement. Four lines of this 
addendum are used for introduction, one for each of the bird's seven 
qualities, and one for the moral application of each of these quali- 
ties. "She has no gall — we also should be simple and soft; she 
does not live on prey — we also should not rob ; she leaves the 
worm, and lives upon the seed — we need the love of Christ ; she is 
as a mother to other birds — so should we be to each other ; her 
song is like lament — let us lament we have done wrong ; she sees 
the hawk's coming mirrored in the water — and we are warned 
in sacred books against the seizure by the devil ; she makes her 
nest in a hole of the rock — and our best hope is in Christ's 
mercy." 



FORE WORD. IS 

The most remarkable compilation of fables intended for moral 
instruction is the " Gesta Romanorum," a volume of stories written 
in Latin, and derived from Roman, German, and oriental sources. 
These stories were very popular among the monks of 
the middle ages, who used them for the purpose of pomanonuif " 
arousing attention and stimulating that blind and un- 
inquiring devotion which was so remarkable a characteristic of the 
times. Of the influence which they have had on English poetry we 
have abundant evidence. Chaucer, Gower, Lydgate, and all the 
earlier writers borrowed from them. The poets and dramatists of 
the Elizabethan Age make frequent mention of them. George 
Chapman in his "May-Day" (1606) refers to some one who has 
read Marcus Aurelius and the " Gesta Romanorum," and yet suffers 
himself " to be led by the nose like a blind beare that has read 
nothing." From some of the stories Shakespeare doubtless derived 
no little material for his plays. The poetry and romance of later 
writers occasionally bear the marks of indebtedness to this mediaeval 
storehouse of fiction. Of course only a limited portion of the one 
hundred and eighty-one tales comprised in the collection are, strictly 
speaking, allegories ; yet all were so regarded by the monks who 
used them, and an ingenious moralization was subjoined to each, 
for the purpose of reducing it into a religious or moral lesson. The 
following is a fair sample of these stories : — 

Tale XXX. — "A certain king determined on the occasion of 
some victory to appoint three special honors and an equal number 
of disagreeable accompaniments. The first of the honors was that 
the people should meet the conqueror with acclamations and every 
other testimony of pleasure. The second, that all the captives, 
bound hand and foot, should attend the victor's chariot. The third 
honor was that, enwrapped in the tunic of Jupiter, he should sit 
upon a triumphal car, drawn by four white horses, and be thus 
brought to the capital. But lest these exalted rewards should 
swell the heart and make the favorite of fortune forget his birth and 
mortal character, three causes of annoyance were attached to them. 
First, a slave sat on his right hand in the chariot — which served to 
hint that poverty and unmerited degradation were no bars to the 
subsequent attainment of the highest dignities. The second annoy- 
ance was that the slave should inflict upon him several severe blows, 
to abate the haughtiness which the applause of his countrymen 
might tend to excite — at the same time saying to him 'Nosce te 
ipsum' (that is, know thyself^., ^and permit not thy exaltation to 
render thee proud. Look behind thee and remember that thou art 
mortal.' The third annoyance was this, that free license was given 



16 FORE WORD. 

upon that day of triumph to utter the most galling reproaches and 
the most cutting sarcasms against the victor while enjoying his 
triumph. 

" Application : My beloved, the emperor is our heavenly Father ; 
and the conqueror our Lord Jesus Christ, who has obtained a glo- 
rious victory over sin. The first honor t3'pifies His entry into Jeru- 
salem when the people shouted ' Hosanna to the son of David!' 
The second, those enslaved by sin. The third, Christ's divinity. 
The four white horses are the four evangelists. The slave is the 
worst of the two robbers crucified with our Lord. The second 
grievance is the blows He received ; and the third, the indignities 
with which He was overwhelmed." 

From the twelfth to the fifteenth century was the age of vision 
and mystery. Hence it was preeminently the age of allegory. 
Every written work, whether of history or of fable, was believed to 
have a hidden or secondary meaning, to the discovery 
Alleeor^ ° *^^ interpretation of which the energies of scholars, 
poets, and priests were directed. The mythic stories of 
Greece and Rome were made to prefigure the truths of religion in a 
manner which in another age would have been thought irrever- 
ent, if not, indeed, grossly impious. The story of Prometheus, 
who brought fire from heaven to animate a form of clay, was 
said to symbolize the creation of man from the dust of the earth, 
and the act of the Creator in breathing into him the spirit of life. 
Bacchus, twice born, — first of Semele and then of Jupiter, — was the 
type of the Saviour, born of God and of the Virgin Mary. Minerva, 
who sprang from the brain of Jupiter, was the symbol of Christ « 
who proceeded from God without a mother. In Actaeon, pursued 
and killed by his own hounds, was seen the Saviour, persecuted and 
slain by his own creatures. "The poet Lycophron relates that Her- 
cules, in returning from the adventure of the golden fleece, was ship- 
wrecked ; and that, being swallowed by a monstrous fish, he was 
disgorged alive on the shore after three days. Here was an obvious 
symbol of Christ's resurrection." 

This custom of allegorical interpretation was at once the cause 
and the result of the universal taste for allegorical compositions — 
a taste which for a time modified the whole texture of European 
literature. To be able to represent one thing under the similitude 
of another, to personify the passions and the abstract qualities of 
the human mind, to give corporeal existence to the virtues and vices, 
came to be regarded as an exhibition of the highest forms of literary 
workmanship. For two centuries and a half the most popular of 
all writings was the allegory. 



Eije Vimn of SEilltam Conrernins 
piers piou3!)man» 

In the reign of Edward the Third, a poet, of whose 
name we are not quite sure and of whose Hfe we know 
almost nothing, wrote a series of allegorical poems, 
designed as a judicious satire upon the vices of the 
time and especially the abuses current among the relig- 
ious orders. From the name of the ideal character who 
figures as a sort of hero in one of these poems, the 
work is generally called " The Vision of Piers Plough- 
man," or more properly, " The Vision of William con- 
cerning Piers Ploughman." Whether the writer's name 
was William or Robert, Langley, or Langland, it 
matters little, neither are the critics entirely agreed. 
From his intimate knowledge of the Scriptures and his 
deeply reverential manner, we are led to believe that he 
was a priest or monk, connected perhaps with some one 
of the orders which he so vigorously satirized. The 
mention of the Malvern Hills and of other localities 
near the Welsh border makes it seem probable that 
the poem was composed in that part of Britain ; and 
other internal evidences, especially the reference to a 
memorable storm which occurred " on a Saturday at 
even," fix the date of the beginning of its composition 
at about the year 1362. The work consists of twenty- 
three passus or parts, and describes a series of nine 

17 



18 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

distinct visions or dreams which the writer is supposed 
to have had while sleeping on the Malvern Hills.^ 

In a somer seson, when soft was the sonrle, 

I shope- me in shroudes/ as I a shepe'' were, 

In habit as an heremite/ unholy of werkes/ 

Went wide in this world, wonders to here. 

Ac on a May morning, on Malverne hulles, 

Me byfel a ferly of fairy methought." 

I was very forwandered,^ and went me to rest 

Under a brode banke, by a homes ^ side. 

And as I lay and lened, and loked in the wateres, 

I slombered in a slepyng, it swevyed^" so merye. 

In his first dream, the poet sees " all manner of men, 
working: and wanderins: as the world asketh." Among: 



1 Alliterative Poetry. In form the " Vision of Piers Ploughman " is 
the latest survival and the most perfect English specimen of the alliterative 
poetry of the Anglo-Saxons. P^ach line consists of two readily separable 
parts or sections, and in each of these sections there are two strongly 
accented syllables. The rhythm of the verse depends upon the position 
of these syllables. Otherwise there is no metre. Three of these syllables 
in each line — two in the first section and one in the second — begin with 
what is called the " rime-letter." The rime-letter may be a consonant or a 
combination of consonants, as sh, th, br, bl, etc., in which case it must be 
the same in all three of the syllables. But if it is a vowel, as sometimes 
happens, it is only necessary that all should be vowels, and they are gen- 
erally, but not always, different. Example : — 

Love is the ■^lant of ■^eace and most prtrcious of f/>tues, 
For YLeav^Vi might not h(?/(/en it, so h(?avy it seemed, 
Till if had of the ear/A eaten his ii/l. 

It will be observed that the fourth strongly accented syllal)le in the line 
does not begin with the rime-letter. Of course, in practice, the variations 
from these rules are quite frequent. 

2 dressed. ^ clothes. 

* sheep. That is, not as a pastor or shepherd, but as a layman, or sheep. 
^ In style of a hermit. ^ Doing secular work. 

' To me befel a series of illusions, methought. 
8 wearied. ® brook's. ^^ dreamed. 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 19 

them is the maid Meed, or worldly reward, who is about 
to be married to Falsehood. Theology forbids such a 
marriage, and the question is submitted to the king, 
who thereupon proposes that Meed be wedded to Con- 
science. But Conscience demurs, and says : — 

" Crist it me forbede ! 
Er I wedde swich a wife, wo me bitide ! 
For she is frele ^ of hire faith, fikele of hire speche 
And maketh men mysdo many score times ; 
Trust of hire treson- bitrayeth ful manye." 

Afterwards, however, it is agreed to submit the mat- 
ter to Reason for decision. Finally the king is so fully 
convinced of the wisdom of the latter that he announces 
his intention to rule henceforth as he shall direct. Just 
at this point the author "wakes of his wynking," and 
fain would continue his ramble. But having not yet 
recovered from his weariness, he walked only about 
a furlong farther and then 

sat softly a-down 
And seide his bileve,'' 
And so'' he bablede on his bedes, 
Thei broughte him a-slepe. 

And during this second sleep he dreams that Reason 
is preaching to a " field full of folk," telling them that 
the pestilence which was abroad in the land was a pun- 
ishment for their sins, and that the " south-western 
wind on a Saturday at even "^ was manifestly a warning 
against pride. Influenced by Reason's preaching and 
the exhortations of Repentance and Hope, a multitude 
of sinners set out toarether to search for Truth. 



^ frail. 2 worth. ^ creed, prayer. * as. '" January 15, 1362. 



20 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Now^ riden this folk and walken on foot 

To seek that saint in sel couthe^ lands. 

But there were few men so wise that couth'' the way thither, 

But bustling forth as beasts, over valleys and hills, 

(For while they went their owen will they went all amiss), 

Till it was late and long that they a leod * metten, 

Appareled as a palmer,^ in pilgrim's weeds.^ 

He bore a burden i-bound with a broad list,'^ 

In a withe-bound way i-wrappen about. 

A bag and a bowl he bore by his side ; 

An hundred of ampoUes** on his hat satten. 

Signs of Sinai and shells of Galys ; 

Many crosses on his cloak, and keys of Rome, 

And the vernicle^ before, for men should him know. 

And see by these signs, whom he sought had. 

Being asked whence he came, the palmer answered: — ■ 

" From Sinai and from the sepulchre ; 
•From Bethlehem and Babylon : I have been in both. 
In India and in Assye and in many other places. 
Ye may see by my signs that sit on my hat 
That I have walked full wide in wet and in dry, 
And sought good saints for my soul to heal." 

The pilgrims ask him if he has seen that holy being 
whom men call Saint Truth ; and he declares with an 
oath that he has not, neither has he until now seen any 
palmer with pike and scrip seeking for such a saint. 
Then suddenly Piers Ploughman, the type of the meek 
and the pure-hearted to whom God has promised heav- 



1 The spelling in this and the following extracts has been modernized. 

2 little known. ^ knew. * person. 

^ pilgrim. ^ clothes. " band of cloth. 

^ Small vessels for holy water or oil. 

^ A copy of a small picture of Christ said to have been miraculously 
imprinted on a handkerchief still preserved in St. Peter's at Rome. 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 21 

en's kingdom, is introduced. Saint Truth ? Yes, he 
knows that saint, as naturally as a clerk knows his 
books. He has been Truth's fellow these forty win- 
ters: Has both sowed his seed, and "suwed"^ his 
beasts ; has reaped his corn and carried it to the barn ; 
has digged and delved, and done his bidding within and 
without. 

"And if ye will i-wit^ where that he dwelleth 
I will wissen^ you the way home to his place." 

The wanderers gladly agreeing to follow his directions, 
he tells them that such as would find Truth 

" Mote ^ go through meekness, both man and wife, 
Till ye come unto Conscience, that Christ know the truth 
That ye love him liever^ than the life in your hearts, 
And then your neighbors next." 

Then they must go forward until they find the brook 
" Be-buxom-of-speech," and at the ford " Honor-your- 
fathers " they must wash themselves well — "and ye 
shall leap the more lightly all your life time." Then 
shall they come by a " croft "*^ called "Covet-not" 
which they are warned not to enter. They are to pass 
the stocks " Steal-not " and " Slay-not," and a brook 
" Bear-no-false-witness." After this they will arrive at 
,a court, "clear as the sun," and at a tower, "set above 
the sun," wherein Truth dwells. 

Then many of the company began to make excuses 
why they should not go at once in search of Truth by 
the way which Piers the Ploughman had pointed out. 
" Yea," quoth one " I have bought a piece of ground, 

^ followed. ^ understand. ^ teach, show. 

* must. 5 better. ^ ^ small village. 



22 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

and now must I thither to see how I like it," and took 
leave of Piers. Another said, " I have bought five 
yoke of oxen, and therefore I must go with a good will 
at once to drive them ; therefore, I pray you. Piers, if 
peradventure you meet Truth, so tell him, that I may 
be excused." Quoth Contemplation, " Though I suffer 
care, famine, and want, yet will I follow Piers. But the 
way is so difficult that, without a guide to go with us, 
we may take a wrong turning." 

Then Piers said, " I have a half-acre by the road-side, 
Vv^hich if I had ploughed and seeded, I would go with 
you and teach you the way." Then he set to work 
ploughing his half-acre, and many of the pilgrims 
helped him. But some of them sat idly about and sang 
" Hoy, trolly, lolly ! " And when urged to work with 
the threat that not a grain should gladden them in time 
of need, they pleaded that they were blind, or lame, and 
could not work. " But we pray for you. Piers, and for 
your plough, too, that God of his grace will multiply 
your grain and reward you for your almesse that ye 
give us here. We have no limbs to labor with. We 
thank the Lord." These idlers finally became riotous, 
and Piers called in Hunger to subdue them. Hunger 
had no mercy on them, and they, in fear of him, has- 
tened to do whatever labor was at hand. Even the 
friars of all the five orders worked. Then as Hunger 
was about to depart. Piers asked his advice. " Truth," 
said he, " once taught me to love them all. Teach me. 
Sir Hunger, how to master them, and make them love 
the labor for their living." 

"Give them beans," answered Hunger. "If any 
object, bid him ' Go work ' ; and he shall sup the 
sweeter when he hath deserved." 



FIERS PLOUGHMAN. 23 

" It was not yet harvest, and there was nothing to 
be had but a little curds and cream, an oat-cake, a few 
loaves of beans and pease, parsley, onions, half-red 
cherries, a cow and her calf, and a cart-mare. But the 
poor people brought what they could to feed Hunger, 
who ate all in haste, and asked for more. But when 
it was harvest-time, and the new corn was in, Hunger 
ate and was satisfied, and went away. And then the 
beggars would eat only the finest bread, they would 
take no half-penny ale — only the best and the brownest 
that the brewsters sell. Laborers, who had only their 
hands to live by, would not dine upon worts more than 
one night old, or penny ale and a piece of bacon, but 
must have fresh meat and fish, hot and hotter, because 
their stomachs were a-cold. They would chide if they 
had not high wages, and curse the laws ; but they 
strove not so when Hunger frowned upon them. Here 
the poet, reading signs of the stars according to the 
astrology that formed part of the undoubted science 
of his day, warned his countrymen, by the aspect of 
Saturn, that Hunger was coming back; for famine and 
pestilence were on the way to them again. It was a 
sad prediction which, in those days, must needs be 
fulfilled. The next of the great pestilences followed 
a sore famine in 1382."^ 

The poet next represents Truth as sending to Piers 
and commanding him to till the earth ; and a full 
pardon was promised to him and to all who labored 
with him or protected him. And here is introduced a 
tender picture of peasant life, of the sorrows of the 
mother and the children : — 



^ Morley's " English Writers," vol. iv. 



24 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And woe in winter-time with waking a-nights 

To rise to the ruel/ to rock the cradle, 

Both to card and to comb, to clouten ^ and to wash, 

To run and to rely,^ rushes to pihe,* 

That ruth^ is to read other® in rhyme shewe 

The woe of these women that woneth in cotes." 

Finally Piers engages in a dispute with a priest con- 
cerning the form of the pardon which he had received 
from Truth. Piers read it to the company : — 

"Qui bona egerunt ibunt i?i viiam eternam ; 
Qui ve?'o mala, in ignem aefe/iium." ^ 

" That is no pardon," said the priest. " It says only 
this : — 

" Do well and Have well, and God shall have thy soul ; 
Do ill and Have ill, and hope thou none other 
But he that ill liveth shall have an ill end." 

While this dispute was still being carried on, the Dreamer 
awoke. The sun was far in the south, and rising to 
his feet he walked a mile over Malvern Hill, pondering 
on the meaning of the vision which he had seen. Did 
it not mean that 

Whoso doth well here, at the day of doom 

Worth faire underfong ^ before Cxod that time ? 

So Do-wel passeth pardon and pilgrimages to Rome. 

Yet hath the Pope power to grant. 

As lettered men us leerth '" and law of Holy-Church. 

And so I believe loyally, lords forbid else. 

That pardon and penance and prayers do save 

Souls that have sinned seven siths " deadly. 

^ ruel, spinning-wheel. ^ clouten, to patch. ^ rely, reel. 

* pilie, peel. ^ ruth, pity. *^ other, or. ''' dwelleth in cots. 

^ See John v. 29. ^ received. i" teacheth, ^^ times. 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 25 

But at the great assize such pardons will be of little 
worth compared with the record of a worthy life. 

At the dreadful day of doom when dead men shullen rise, 

And comen all before Christ accounts to yield 

How we had our life here and his laws kept, 

And how we did day by day, the doom will rehearse : 

A poke ^ full of pardon there, ne provincials letters, 

Though we be found in fraternity of all five orders,^ 

And have indulgences doublefold, but^ Do-wel us help, 

I set by pardon not a pea nother^ a pye-heel.^ 

Forthi ^ ich ^ counsel all Christians to cry God mercy 

And Mary his mother be our mene * to him, 

That God give us grace here, ere we go hence. 

Such works to work while we ben here 

That after our death day Do-wel rehearse 

At the day of doom, we did as he taught. — Amen. 

Here ends the first part of this remarkable poem. 
The second part describes the Dreamer's search for 
Do-wel, Do-bet, and Do-best, and introduces personifi- 
cations of many of the commoner virtues and vices. 
Lying under a tree and listening to the songs of the 
birds, he falls asleep, and sees his third vision. A man 
like to himself calls him by name. 

"What art thou? " quoth I, " that my name thou knowest? " 
"That wotst^ thou, Will," quoth he, "and no wight ^^ better. 
" Wot I ? " quoth I ; " Who art thou ? " " Thought," said he 

then ; 
"I have thee served this seven year. Saw thou me no 

rather"?" 



^ pocket. 

2 The five orders of mendicant or begging friars, viz. the Franciscans, 
the Dominicans, the Carmelites, the Minorites, and the Augustines. 
^ unless. * nor, neither. 5 magpie's heel. 

8 on that account, therefore. '^ I. ^ mediator. 

^ knowest. '^^ person. n sooner. 



26 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

"Art thou Thought?" quoth I then, "thou couthest^ me 

wisse ^ 
"Where that Do-wel dwelleth, and do me to know." 
"Do-wel and Do-bet," quoth he, " and Do-best the third, 
Beeth three fair virtues, and beeth not far to find. 
Whoso is true of his tongue and of his two hands, 
And through leal ^ labor liveth and loveth his em-Christian,* 
And thereto is true of his tale and holds well his hands. 
Not drunken nor disdainful, Do-wel him followeth. 
Do-bet doth all this, ac yet he doth more : 
He is low as a lamb and lovely of speech 
And helpeth heartily all men of that he may spare. 
The bags and the by-girdles he hath to-broke * them all 
That the Earl Avarous held and his heirs. 
And of Mammons money made him many friends, 
And is run into religion, and rendreth his Bible, 
And preacheth to the people Saint Paul's words : 

Libenter stiffertis insipientes, cum sitis ipsi sapientes^ 
Do-best bear should the bishop's cross 
And hale ' with the hooked end ill men to good. 
And with the point put down prevaricatores legis, 
Lords that liven as them lust * and no law accounten. 
For their muck ^ and their meuble '" such men thinken 
That no bishop should their bidding withsit." 
But Do-best should not dreaden them, but do as God 

highte, ^^ 
Nolite tiniere eos qui pos sunt occidere corpus}^ 

And so the Dreamer sets out on his journey to the 
dwelling of Do-wel, Do-bet, and Do-best. At the sug- 
gestion of Thought, he finds Wit and inquires the way. 
Wit, who was 

Long and lean and like to none other, 

^ canst. 2 show. ^ honest. 

* even or fellow Christian. ^ broken up. ® 2 Cor. xi. 19. 

' pull, drag. 8 please, choose. ^ " filthy lucre." 

^^ goods, property. ^^ withstand. ^■^ bids. 

13 See Matthew x. 28. 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 27 

answers his questions, and at the same time delivers a 
somewhat rambhng lecture upon religious subjects and 
some pointed lessons regarding some of the moral 
virtues. Study, who is the wife of Wit, thereupon 
upbraids him for giving his wisdom to fools, 

And said, Noli mittere, ye men, margerie-pearls 
Among hogges ^ that haven haws at will. 

And she cautions him to beware, also, of showing Holy 
Writ to swine. Finally, she directs the Dreamer to 
Clergy, whom he will find by the highway To-suffer- 
both-weal-and-much-woe. Clergy, when found, tells the 
Dreamer that in order to reach Do-wel he must obey 
the Ten Commandments and believe in Christ ; and 
he delivers a moral lecture in which occurs a curious 
passage that has been regarded by some as a prophecy 
of the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VHI, 
some two hundred years later : — 

And there shall come a king, and confess your religions, 

And beat you as the bible telleth, for breaking of your rule : 

And amend moniales, monks, and canons. 

And then friars in their freytor ^ shall find a key 

Of Constantine's coffers, in which is the cataP 

That Gregory's godchildren had it dispended. 

And than shall the abbot of Abingdon, and all his issue for 

ever. 
Have a knock of a king, and incurable the wound. 

At the conclusion, the Dreamer exclaims: — 

" This is a long lesson, and little am I the wiser." 

The visions which follow — there are nine in all — are 
of a similar kind, introducing new personifications of 

1 See Matthew vii. 6. 2 refectory. ' wealth. 



28 



THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 



moral and intellectual qualities and mildly satirizing 
the prevalent vices of society and the corruptions of the 
Church. In the end, Piers, the humble ploughman, 
is identified with Christ ; and the poet describes the 
Saviour's passion, his descent into hell, the founding 
of the Church, and the coming of antichrist. The 
stronghold of the Church is attacked by an army of 
priests and monks, and Conscience, deserted and almost 
despairing, cries out for help. But, no one coming, he 
takes a pilgrim's staff and vows that he will wander 
over the wide world to seek Piers the Ploughman. 
" Now, Kind, avenge me, and send me hap and hele 
till I have Piers Ploughman ! " And after that he cried 
aloud upon Grace, and the poet awoke. 



SELECTIONS FROM "PIERS PLOUGHMAN." 



CONSCIENCE, THE PREACHER. 



The Kyng and his Knihtes 

to the Churche wenten 
To heere Matyns and Masse 

and to the Mete afterr. 
Then waked I of my wink 

me was wo with alle 
That I nedde sadloker i-slept 

and i-sege more. 
Er I a furlong hedde i-fare, 

a feyntise me hente, 
That forther mihti not a-fote 

for defaute of sleep. 
I sat softeliche a-doun 

and seide my bileve, 
And so I bablede on my beodes, 

thei brouhte me a-slepe. 



The king and his knights 

to the church went 
To hear matins and mass 

and to their meat after. 
Then waked I of my dream 

and was sorrowful withal 
That I had not more soundly slept 

and seen more. 
Before I a furlong had gone 

a faintness me seized, 
That I further could not go 

for want of sleep. 
I sat softly adown 

and said my creed, 
And as I counted my beads 

they put me to sleep. 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 



29 



Then sauh I muche more 

then I beofore tolde, 
For I sauh the feld ful of folk 

that ich of bi-fore schewede, 
And Concience with a crois 

com for to preche. 
He preide the peple 

haue pite of hem-selue, 
And preued that this pestilences 

weore for puire synne, 
And this south westerne wynt 

on a Seterday at euen 
Was a-perteliche for pruide 

and for no poynt elles. 
Piries and plomtres 

weore passchet to the grounde, 
In ensaumple to men 

that we scholde do the bettre. 
Beches and brode okes 

weore blowen to the eorthe, 
And turned upward the tayl 

in toknyng of drede 
That dedly Synne or domesday 

schulde fordon hem alle. 
Of this matere I mihte 

momele ful longe, 
Bote I sigge as I sauh 

(so me god helpe) ! 
How Concience with a crois 

comsede to preche. 
He bad wastors go worche 

what thei best couthe, 
And Wynne that thei wasteden 

with sum maner craft. 
He preigede Pernel 

hire portil to leue, 
And kepen hit in hire cofre, 

for catel at neode. 
He warned Watte 

his wyf was to blame, 
That hire hed was worth a mark 

and his hod worth a grote. 
He chargede chapmen 

to chasten heore children; 
Let hem wonte non eige, 

while that thei ben yonge. 



Then saw I much more 

than I before told, 
For I saw the field full of folk 

that I before showed. 
And Conscience with a cross 

came for to preach. 
He advised the people 

to have pity of themselves, 
And proved that these pestilences 

were for pure sin, 
And this south-western wind 

on a Saturday evening 
Was a punishment for pride 

and for nothing else. 
Pear-trees and plum-trees 

were pushed to the ground 
For example to men 

that we should do better. 
Beeches and broad oaks 

were blown to the earth. 
And turned upward their roots 

in sign of fear 
That deadly sin or doomsday 

should destroy them all. 
Of this matter I might 

chatter full long. 
But I tell what I saw 

(so God help me) ! 
How Conscience with a cross 

commenced to preach. 
He bade idlers go work 

as best they knew how, 
And win what they wasted 

with some kind of craft. 
He advised Penelope 

her embroidery to leave, 
And keep it in her chest 

for money and needs. 
He warned Wat 

that his wife was to blame. 
That her head was worth a mark 

and his hood worth a farthing. 
He charged business men 

to chastise their children ; 
Let them want no eye 

while they are young. 



30 



THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 



He preyede preestes 
and prelates to-gedere, 

That thei prechen the peple 
to preuen hit in hem-seluen — 

" And libben as ge lereth us, 
we wolen loue ow the betere." 



He prayed the priests 

and prelates together, 
That what they preach to the people 

to practise in themselves — 
"And live as you teach us, 

we will love you the better." 



ENVY. 



Envye with heui herte 

asket aftur schrift. 
And gretliche his gultus 

bi-ginneth to schewe. 
As pale as a pelet 

in a palesye he seemede, 
I-clothed in a caurimauri 

I couthe him not discreue. 
A kertil and a courtepy, 

a knyf be his side; 
Of a freris frokke 

were the fore sleuys. 
As a leek that hedde i-leigen 

longe in the sonne, 
So loked he with lene chekes; 

lourede he foule. 
His bodi was boiled, 

for vvraththe he bot his lippes, 
Wrothliche he wrong his fust; 

he thougte him a-wreke 
With werkes or with wordes, 

whon he seig his tyme. 

" Whon I come to the churche 

and knele bi-fore the Roode, 
And scholde preige for the peple 

as the prest vs techeth, 
Thenne I crie vppon my knes 

that Crist giue hem serwe 
That hath i-bore a-wei my boUe 

and my brode schete. 
From the auter I turne 

myn eige, and bi-holde 
Hou Heyne hath a newe Cote 

and his wyf another; 



Envy with heavy heart 

sought for confession, 
And greatly his guiltiness 

began to shew. 
As pale as a palet 

in a palsy he seemed, 
Clothed in a caurimauri 

which I cannot describe. 
A kirtle and a short cloak, 

a knife by his side; 
Of a friar's dress 

were the fore sleeves. 
As a leek that had lain 

long in the sun. 
So looked he with lean cheeks; 

scowled he wickedly. 
His body was swollen ; 

for wrath he bit his lips; 
Angrily he wrung his fist; 

he thought to avenge himself 
With works or with words, 

when he saw his time. 

" When I come to the church 

and kneel before the cross. 
And should pray for the people, 

as the priest teacheth us. 
Then I cry, upon my knees, 

that Christ give them sorrow 
That hath carried away my bowl 

and my wide sheet. 
From the altar I turn 

my eyes, and behold 
How Heyne (Henry?) hath a new 
coat 

and his wife another ; 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 



31 



Thenne I wussche hit weore myn 

and al the web aftur. 
Of his leosing I lauhwe, 

hit liketh me in myn herte; 
Ac for his wynnynge I wepe 

and weile the tyme. 
I deme men that don ille 

and git I do wel worse, 
For I wolde that vch a wiht 

in this world were mi knaue, 
And who-so hath more thanne I 

that angrith myn herte. 
Thus I Hue loueles 

lyk a luther dogge, 
That all my breste boUeth 

for bitter of my galle; 
May no suger so swete 

a-swagen hit vnnethe, 
Ne no diopendion 

dryne hit from myn herte; 
Gif schrift schulde hit thenne swo- 
pen out 

a gret wonder hit were." 



Then I wish it were mine 

and all the cloth besides. 
At his losing I laugh, — 

it pleaseth me in my heart; 
And for his winning I weep 

and deplore all the time. 
I condemn men that do ill, 

and yet I do worse, 
For I would that every one 

in this world were my servant. 
And if any one hath more than I, 

it grieveth my heart. 
Thus I live loveless 

like a wretched dog. 
And all my breast swelleth 

for the bitterness of my gall; 
No sweet sugar may 

scarcely assuage it, 
Nor any electuary 

drive it from my heart; 
If confession should sweep it out, 

a great wonder it would be." 



THE TOWER OF TRUTH. 



Thenne schaltou come to a court 

cleer as the sonne. 
The mot is of merci 

the maner al abouten, 
And all the walles beth of wit 

to hold wil theroute ; 
The carnels beth of Cristendam 

the kuynde to saue, 
Brutaget with the bileeue 

wher-thorw we moten beo sauet. 
Alle the houses beoth i-hulet 

halles and chaumbres, 
With no led bote with loue- 

as-bretheren-of-o-wombe. 
The Tour ther treuthe is inne 

i-set is aboue the sonne ; 



Then shall you come to a court 

bright as the sun, 
The moat is of mercy 

all about the manor. 
And all the walls are of common- 
sense 

to hold desire thereout; 
The battlements are of Christendom 

the kind ^ to save. 
Buttressed with the faith 

through which we may be saved. 
All the houses are covered 

halls and chambers. 
With no lead but with love- 

as-brethren-of-one-birth. 
The tower in which Truth is, 

is set above the sun; 



1 Mankind. 



32 



THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 



He may do with the day-sterre 

what him deore lyketh. 
Deth dar not do 

thing that he defendeth. 
Grace hette the gate-ward, 

a good mon forsothe; 
His mon hette a-mende-thou, 

for mony men him knoweth; 
Tel him this tokene, 

for treuthe wot the sothe; 
" I performede penaunce 

that the prest me en-ioynede; 
I am sori for my sunnes 

and so schal I euere 
Whon I thenke ther-on, 

thaug I weore a pope." 
Bidde a-mende-thou Meken him 

to his mayster ones, 
To Wynne vp the wiket-gat 

that the wey schutte, 
Tho that Adam and Eue 

eeten heore bone; 
For he hath the key of the cliket 

thaug the kyng slepe. 
And gif grace the graunte 

to gon in in this wyse, 
Thou schalt seo treuthe him-self 

sitten in thin herte. 
Thenne loke that thou loue him wel 

and his lawe holde. . . . 
Ak ther beoth seuen sustren 

tliat seruen treuthe euere 
And ben porters at posternes 

that to the place longen. 
That on hette Abstinence 

and Humilitie a-nother, 
Charite and Chastite 

beoth tweyne ful choyse maidenes, 
Pacicnce and Pees 

muche peple helpen, 
Largesse the ladi 

ledeth in ful monye. 
Bote hose is sib to this sustren 

so me god helpe ! 



He may do with the day-star 

what pleaseth him best. 
Death dare not attack 

the thing that he defendeth. 
Grace is called the gate-keeper, 

a good man in truth; 
His man is called "Amend-thou," 

for many men know him; 
Tell him this pass-word, 

for Truth knows the truth; 
" I performed the penance 

that the priest on me enjoined; 
I am sorry for my sins, 

and so shall I ever be 
When I think thereon, 

though I should be a pope." 
Bid " Amend-thou " humble him 

to his master once. 
To raise up the wicket-gate 

that closes the way, 
Though Adam and Eve 

did eat to their ruin; 
For he hath the key to the door- 
latch, 

though the king may sleep. 
And if grace is granted thee 

to go in in this way. 
Thou shalt see Truth himself 

sitting in thy heart. 
Then see that thou love him well 

and observe his law. . . . 
And then there are seven sisters 

that serve Truth forever. 
And porters and gate-keepers 

that belong to the place. 
One is called Abstinence, 

and another Humility, 
Charity and Chastity, 

both of them choice maidens. 
Patience and Peace, 

many people to aid, 
Bounty, the lady, 

leadeth in full many. 
But whoso is related to these sis- 
ters — 

so God help me ! — 



PIERS PLOUGHMAN. 



33 



Is wonderliche wel-comen 

and feire vnderfonge. 
And bote ge ben gibbe 

to summe of theos seuene, 
Hit is ful hard, bi myn hed ! 

any of ow alle 
To gete in-goynge at that gat 

bote grace beo the more. 
" Bi Crist," quath a cutte-pors, 

" I haue no kun there ! " 
" No," quath an apeward 

" for nout that I 
" I-wis," quath a w 

" wust I this for 
Schulde I neoere 

for no freres pr 
" Gus," quath Pers N*< T»lTiV£fi_nion 

and prechede hire t 
" Merci is a mayden ther 

and hath miht ouer hem alia; 
Hao is sib to alle synful man 

an hire sona alse; 
And thorvv the help of hem two 

(hope thou non other), 
Thou maigt geta grace ther, 

so that thou go bi-tyme." 




Is wonderfully welcome 

and fairly racaived. 
And except ya be akin 

to some of these seven 
It is full hard, by my head ! 

for any of you all 
To get entrance at that gate 

unless Grace be the greater. 
"By Christ," cried a cut-purse, 
" I have no kin there ! " 

swered an ape-kaapar, 
thing I know." 
traveller, 
"or sura, 
;nevar go J'|)rward a foot 
aching." 
Ploughman, 
em to goodness, 
aidan there, 
and hath power over them all; 
She is akin to all sinful men 

and her son also; 
And through the help of these two 

(hope you for no other). 

You may obtain grace there, 

if only you go be-times." 



THE ADVICE OF HUNGER. 



Ete not, ich hote the, 

til hunger the take. 
And sende the sum of his sauce 

to sauar the the betare; 
Keep sum til soper tyme, 

and sit thou not to longe; 
Arys vp ar appetyt 

habba i-geten his fuUe. 
Let not Sir Surfet 

sitten at thi bord; 
Loue him not, for he is a lechour 

and likerous of tonge, 
And aftur mony metes 

his maw is a-longet. 



Eat not, I advise thee, 

till Hunger takes thee 
And sends thee some of his sauce, 

to savor thee the better; 
Keep some till supper-time, 

and sit thou not too long; 
Arise up ere Appetite 

has gotten his fill. 
Let not Sir Surfeit 

sit at thy board ; 
Love him not, for ha is Lechery 

and vile of speech. 
And after many meals 

his stomach is still craving. 



€^t Eomaunt o! tf}c Eose. 



About the middle of the thirteenth century a French- 
man, a Trouvere named Guillaume de Lorris, began to 
write a long allegorical poem describing the experiences 
of a lover. The scene of the poem is the Garden of 
Delight, and into it are admitted only such characters 
as Beauty, Pleasure, Jollity, Wealth, Courtesy, Youth, 
and Love. The Rose is the emblem of Beauty, and 
the story of the quest of that flower is the " Roman 
de la Rose." Of the life of Guillaume de Lorris noth- 
ing is known, although visitors to the little town of 
Lorris are still shown an old house in which it is said 
he was born. Having written 4070 lines of his great 
allegory, he stopped abruptly. Why he should thus 
leave his poem incomplete, no one knows. Perhaps 
death surprised him in the midst of his work. A few 
lines written as a kind of marginal note by some 
unknown hand at the end of what he had completed 
seem to tell the story : — 

Cy endroit trespassa Guillaume 
De Loris, et n'en fist plus pseaulme ; 
Mais, apres plus que quarante ans, 
Maitre Jehan de Meung ce remans 
Parfist, ainsi comme je treuve ; 
Et ici commence son oeuvre. 

34 



THE ROM AUNT OF THE ROSE. 35 

Here William died ; his song was done. 

When forty years had passed away. 
Sir John the romance carried on, 

And, here commencing, told the lay. 

Of Jean de Meung (" Sir John "), who completed 
Guillaume de Lorris's work by adding to it 18,002 lines, 
we know very little more than we do of his predecessor. 
The towns of Lorris and Meung are both in the valley 
of the Loire, being not more than forty miles distant 
from each other. Jean de Meung was a somewhat 
voluminous writer, and he seems to have been held in 
some favor at the court of King Philip the Fair. In 
another work of his he says that " God gave him to 
serve the greatest people in France." In that part of 
the " Roman de la Rose " which he wrote he fell far 
short of Guillaume de Lorris in picturesqueness of de- 
scription and, if you will, in brilliancy of imagination. 
But he more than made amends by keeping in touch 
with the awakening spirit of the times. His part of 
the poem is satirical, aggressive, fairly alive with the 
thought of the age. "Jean de Meung," says Walter 
Besant, " wished, it seems to me, to write a book for 
the people, to answer their questions, to warn them of 
dangers before them, and to instruct their ignorance. 
On the sapless trunk of a dying and passionless alle- 
gory he grafts a living branch which shall bear fruit 
in the years to come. His poem breathes, indeed. Its 
pulses beat with a warm human life. Its sympathies 
are with all mankind. The poet has a tear for the 
poor, naked beggars dying on dung-heaps and in the 
Hotel-Dieu, and a lash of scorpions for the Levite who 
goes by on the other side ; he teaches the lovpliness of 
friendship ; he catches the wordless complaint of the 



36 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

poor, and gives it utterance ; he speaks with a scorn 
which Voltaire only has equalled, and a revolutionary- 
fearlessness surpassing that of D'Alembert or Diderot. 
His book was absolutely the only cheerful book of his 
time." 

For two hundred and fifty years this allegory, the 
" Roman de la Rose," was the most popular poem in 
France. Nor was its popularity confined within the 
boundaries of its native country. It was recited and 
admired throughout Europe. Clement Marot published 
an edition of it in the sixteenth century ; and Etienne 
Pasquier declared that he prefeired it to the " Divine 
Comedy" of Dante. It was the source "whence its 
readers drew their maxims of morality, their science, their 
history, and even their religion." It was translated into 
at least one other tongue, and was imitated to some extent 
by the most popular poets of the next two centuries. 

But, aside from its intrinsic merits and any other 
influence which it exerted upon the literature and 
the thought of the age, the " Roman de la Rose " 
possesses a special interest to the student of Eng- 
lish literature. It was to this allegory that Geoffrey 
Chaucer^ owed much of his earlier inspiration; and 
it is to him that the " Romaunt of the Rose," an English 



1 Geoffrey Chaucer, " the father of English poetry," was born in London. 
The date of his birth is not positively known, some placing it in 1328, 
others in 1340. He was a page in the royal household, served in the 
army, and was taken prisoner in France in 1359. He was afterwards a 
squire to King Edward HI, and was the royal commissioner to Italy in 
1372. In 1386 he was elected to Parliament from Kent. His old age 
was full of misfortune, and he died poor in 1400. His greatest work was 
the series of poems known as the " Canterbury Tales." He wrote, also, 
many shorter poems, some of which are noticed more fully in the following 
pages. 



THE ROM AUNT OF THE ROSE. 37 

translation of a large portion of the famous French 
poem is generally attributed.^ The "Romaunt" is a 
close rendering of the original, following it almost line 
for line and word for word, with only an occasional 
omission or now and then a slight expansion for the sake 
of greater clearness. It includes the whole of the part 
written by Guillaume de Lorris and about one-fifth of 
Jean de Meung's addition. If it is the work of Chaucer, 
it must have been written near the beginning of his 
literary career, certainly not later than the close of the 
third quarter of the fourteenth century. 

The allegory begins, as do almost all such poems, 
with a dream — with a May morning and a walk among 
springing leaves and budding flowers, the birds singing 
in the trees and the joyous sun just beginning his daily 

course. 

In time of love and jolit^ 
That all thing 'ginneth waxen gay, 
For there is neither busk^ nor hay^ 
In May, that it n'ill shrouded * been 
And it with new leaves wrene.^ . . . 
Then doth the nightingale her might 
To maken noise and singen blithe. 
Then is blissful many a sithe *" 

1 Many of the later and abler critics contend that this is not a work of 
Chaucer's. They found their opinion chiefly upon some peculiarities of 
rhyme, etc., wherein it differs from any of the known works of Chaucer. 
But Humphry Ward says: "Translate the 'Romaunt' he certainly did, 
and the impression it made upon him was deep and lasting. On the 
one hand it furnished him with a whole allegorical mythology, as well 
as with his stock landscape, his stock device of the Dream, and even (we 
may at least imagine) confirmed him in the choice of the flowing eight- 
syllabled couplet for the 'Hous of Fame'; and, on the other, it furnished 
him with those weapons of satire which he used with such effect in the 
Pardoner's prologue and elsewhere." 

2 bush. 3 grass. * hidden. ^ covered. ® time. 



38 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

The chelaundre ^ and popinjay.^ . . . 
Hard is the heart that loveth nought 
In May, when all this love is wrought, 
When he may on these branches hear 
The smalls birdt^s singen clear 
Their bUssful sweet song piteous.^ 

The dreamer is conducted to the Garden of Delight, 
a square garden, " as long as it was large." The garden 
contains all kinds of trees, which are set in rows " five 
fathom or six" apart; there are "wells" in great 
number, which water the entire place, so that the earth 
is "of such grace that it of flowers hath plenty" both 
in summer and winter. The most remarkable of all 
these "wells" or fountains is that which had served as 
a mirror for Narcissus. Whosoever looked into it might 
see everything that was in the garden. The dreamer, 
looking into it, saw, among a thousand other things, 

A roser * charged full of roses 
That with an hedge about encloses. 

Being resolved to pluck one of the roses for himself, he 
hastened towards the rose-tree, but was so smitten by 

1 goldfinch. ^ parrot. 

^ El terns amoreus plein de joie, 
El terns ou tote riens sesgaie, 
Que Ten ne voit boisson ne haie 
Qui en Mai parer ne se voille 
Et covrir de novele foille. . . . 
Li rossignos lores s'efforce 
De chanter et de faire noise; 
Lors s'esvertue et lors s'envoise 
Li papegans et la Kalandre. . . . 
Moult a dur cuer qui en Mai n'aime, 
Quant il ot chanter sus la raime 
As oisiaus les dous chans piteus. — Roman de la Rose, 

* rose-tree. 



THE ROM AUNT OF THE ROSE. 39 

the " savour " of the flowers that he was obliged to 
stay his hand. Then Love, who was standing by a 
fig-tree, bent his bow and pierced him with his arrows. 
The dreamer thenceforth became the Lover, and his 
pursuit of the Rose is the all-absorbing topic of the 
story. Every reader of the poem is at liberty to inter- 
pret the allegory as he likes. One sees in the Rose 
the holy Church ; another supposes that it symbolizes 
the Virgin Mary ; another, that it is the Philosopher's 
Stone. Clement Marot, who lived ^ a hundred and fifty 
years later than Chaucer, said it was a Papal Rose, 
" made of gold on account of the honor and reverence 
due to God, and scented with musk and balm to sym- 
bolize our duties to our neighbors and our obligation to 
hold our souls clear and precious above all worldly 
things." It might represent the state of grace to which 
all men should aspire ; it might, like the rose which 
the Queen of Sheba gave to Solomon, signify eternal 
happiness. The Lover may also be regarded as sym- 
bolizing a variety of characters. " He is the child born 
into the light," says Molinet ; " he is born in the month 
of May, when the birds sing ; and the singing of the 
birds is the preaching of the holy doctors ! " It is 
scarcely necessary to recount more of his adventures. 
He meets, at various times, those virtues, vices, and 
follies which are supposed to have most influence upon 
human action. Good Reception cheers him forward ; 
Authority restrains him from rashness ; False Semblant 
preaches to him and deceives him ; Reason instructs 
him ; Jealousy taunts and persecutes him ; Danger 
warns him of evil ; Wicked Tongue slanders him ; Ab- 
stinence teaches him self-denial ; and Love supports 
1 1495-1544. 



40 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

him through every discouragement. To modern readers 
the allegory is full of tedious verbiage ; but there are 
occasional passages which will well repay the reading. 



o>»4o 



EXTRACTS FROM THE " ROMAUNT OF 
THE ROSE."i 

HYPOCRISY. 

Good heart maketh the good thought ; 
The clothing giveth nor taketh nought. 
The good thought and the working 
That maketh the religion flourishing 
There lieth the good religion, 
After the right intention. 

Whoso took a wether's ^ skin, 
And wrapped a greedy wolf therein 
For^ he should go with lambe's white 
Weenest* thou not he would them bite.? 
Yes; nevertheless as he were wood^ 
He would them worry, and drink the blood, 
And well the rather them deceive. 
For since they coulde not perceive 
His treachery and cruelty 
They would him follow, although he fly. 
If there be wolves of such hue 
Amongst these apostles new. 
Thou, holy church, thou mayest be wailed 
Since that thy city is assailed. 

^ So far as is possible without injury to the metre, the spelling has been 
modernized. 

2 sheep's. ^ if 4 knowest. '" wont. 



THE ROM AUNT OF THE ROSE. 41 



THE STORY OF NARCISSUS. 

Narcissus was a bachelere ^ 
That Love had caught in his dangere,^ 
And in his net gan him so strain, 
And did him so to weep and plain, 
That need him must his life forgo : 
For a fair lady, that hight ^ Echo, 
Him loved over any creature, 
And gan for him such pain endure, 
That on a time she him told 
That, if he her loven nolde,* 
That her behooved needes die, 
There lay none other remedi6. 

But ne'ertheless, for his beaut6 
So fierce and dangerous was he, 
That he nolde granten he/ asking, 
For weeping, nor for fair praying. 

And when she heard him warn her so 
She had in heart so grete woe, 
And took it in so grete despite, 
That she withouten more respite 
Was dead anon : but ere she died 
Full piteously to God she preide,^ 
That proude hearted Narcissus 
That was in love so dangerous. 
Might on a day be hampered so 
For love, that be so hot for wo, 
That never he might to joy attain; 
Then should he feel in every vein 

1 a knight. ^ coyness. ^ was called. 

* would not. ^ prayed. 



42 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

What sorrow true lovers maken 
That are so villainously ^ forsaken. 

This prayer was but reasonable, 
Therefore God held it firm and stable : 
For Narcissus shortly to tell, 
By aventure^ came to that well 
To rest him in the shadowing 
A day, when he came from hunting. 

This Narcissus had suffered pains 
For running all day in the plains. 
And was for thirst in great distress 
Of heart, and of his weariness. 
That had lost his breath almost benomen,^ 
When he was to that well yeomen,* 
That shadowed was with branches green, 
He thought of thilke^ water sheen ^ 
To drink and fresh him well withall, 
And down on knees he gan to fall, 
And forth his neck and head outstraught^ 
To drinke of that well a draught. 
And in the water anon was seen 
His nose, his mouth, his eyen sheen, 
And he thereof was all abashed. 
His own shadow had him betrashed,^ 
For well wend ^ he the forme see 
Of a child of great beautee. 
Well couth 1^ Love him wreke ^^ though 
Of danger and of pride also 
That Narcissus sometime him bear, 
He quite ^^ him well his guerdon ^^ there. 



^ Pronounced in three syllables : viln-ous-ly. 

2 chance. ^ benumbed. * arrived. ^ that. 

* bright, clear. "^ outstretched. ^ betrayed. ® thought. 

10 was able. ^^ revenge. ^^ gave, awarded. ^^ reward. 



THE ROM AUNT OF THE ROSE. 43 

For he mused so in the well, 
That shortely the sooth ^ to tell, 
He loved his owne shadow so 
That at last he starf e ^ for woe. 
For when he saw that he his will 
Might in no manner way fulfil 
And that he was so faste caught 
That he him couthe comfort naught, 
He lost his wit right in that place 
And died within a little space, 
And thus his warison^ he took 
For the lady that he forsook. 



FALSE SEMBLANT NO HERMIT. 

I love none hermitage more ; 
All deserts and holtes^ hoar 
And great woods every one, 
I let^ them to the Baptist John: 
I queth him quite ^ and him release 
Of Egypt all the wilderness. 
Too far were all my mansiouns 
From all cities and good towns. 
My palace and my house make I 
Where men may run in openly. 
And say that I the world forsake ; 
But all amid I build and make 
My house, and swim and play therein 
Better than a fish doeth with his fin. 



1 truth. 2 died. ^ reward. * forests. ^ give, leave. 

® queth him quite, the translation of an old expression used in law, 
Clamo illi quieUm. The French is Je quitte, I acquit him. 



44 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 



THE GOD OF LOVE 

This god of love of his fashion 

Was Hke no knave ^ ne quistron ^ : 

His beauty greatly was to prize, 

But of his robe to devise ^ 

I dread encumber'd for to be ; 

For not yclad in silk was he, 

But all in flowers and flowerets, 

Ypainted all with amorets,^ 

And with lozenges^ and scochons,^ 

With birdes, leopards, and lions, 

And other beastes wrought full well. 

His garment was of every dell ' 

Yportrayed and ywrought with flowers 

By divers medeling^ of colours. 

Flowers there were of many guise 

Yset by compass in a size ; 

There lack'd no flower to my dome,^ 

Nay, not so much as flower of broom, 

Nor violet, nor even pervinke,^^ 

Nor flower none that me can on think. 

And many a rose leaf full long 

Was intermingled there among ; 

And also on his head was set 

Of roses red a chapelet. 

But nightingales a full great rout 

Were flying over his head about. 



^ servant. - scullion. ^ describe. * amorous women. 

^ Quadrilateral figures of equal sides, but unequal angles, in which the 
arms of women were painted. 

^ Scutcheons of arms. '' part. ^ intermingling. ^ opinion. 

1° periwinkle. 



THE ROM AUNT OF THE ROSE. 45 

The leaves felden^ as they wrien,^ 

With popinjay, with nightingale, 

With chelaundre and with wood wale, 

With finch, with larke, and with archangell.^ 

He seemed as he were angel 

That down was come from Heaven clear. 



MAY A MAN BEG? 

To hear the case especial : 

If a man be so bestial 

That he of no craft hath science, 

And nought desireth ignorance, 

Then may he go a begging yerne,^ 

Through which, without truanding, 

He may in truth have his living. 

Or if he may do no labor. 
For eld, or sickness, or languor, 
Or for his tender age also. 
Then may he yet a begging go. 

Or if he have of craft cunning. 
And strength also, and desiring 
To worken, as he had what. 
But he find neither this ne that, 
Then may he begge till that he 
Have gotten his necessite. 

Or if his winning be so light, 
That his labor will not aquite 
Sufficiently all his living 
Yet may he go his bread begging. 



1 fell, made to fall. ^ turned. ^ the titmouse. * eagerly. 



E!je Court of ILobe* 



Of the allegorical poems commonly attributed to 
Chaucer, "The Court of Love" is one of the most inter- 
esting. A brief introduction by one of its earliest 
editors describes it as "an imitation of the 'Romaunt 
of the Rose,' shewing that all are subject to love, what 
impediments soever to the contrary ; containing also 
those twentie statutes which are to be observed in the 
Court of Love." The poem is represented as the work 
of " Philogenet of Cambridge, clerk " (supposed by the 
older critics to be Chaucer himself), who, at " eighteen 
yeare of age, lusty and light," was commanded to seek 
the Court of Love.^ 

So then I went by strange and far countries, 

Enquiring aye what coast had to it drew 

The Court of Love. And thitherward as bees, 

At last I see the people gan pursue ; 

And methought some wight was there that knew 

Where that the court was holden far or nigh, 

And after them full fast I gan me hie. 



1 The " Court of Love " was probably written later than Chaucer's time, 
and is in reality an allegorical sketch of the Love Courts, as they existed 
in Provence and Languedoc in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. 
These courts probably originated in the purely literary competitions be- 
tween Troubadours and poets in the feudal castles of the great lords. They 
were afterwards conducted by societies of noble knights and ladies, that 
in Provence being called the Court of Love, and that in Languedoc the 

46 



THE COURT OF LOVE. 47 

After a little while he came in sight of the castle 
wherein the court was held : — 

But furthermore the castle to descry, 
Yet saw I never none so large and high. 
For unto Heaven it stretcheth, I suppose, 
Within and out depainted wonderly 
With many a thousand daisies red as rose, 
And white also, this saw I verily. 
But who, though daisies might do signify. 
Can I not tell, save that the quenes flower 
Alceste it was that kept there her sojoure.^ 

Of that castle Venus (Alcestis) was queen, and Admetus 
king. It shone with windows all of glass, and the walls 
were covered with paintings " of many a prince and 
many a doughty king." Philogenet is conducted into 



Fraternity of the Penitents of Love. They were regulated by a Code of 
Love, and their authority was supreme, or at least equal in their own juris- 
diction to that of the Church or State. Of the Code of Love, Chaucer 
gives twenty of the most important statutes. Enthusiasm was carried to 
the highest pitch of unreason, and some curious stories are told of the 
manner in which the devotees of these courts sought to maintain their 
fanatical and ridiculous theories. To prove that love works the most 
wonderful changes, the love-penitents of Languedoc dressed in summer in 
heavy furs, and in winter in the lightest and thinnest clothing that could 
be obtained. They refused to protect themselves from cold by having 
fires in their houses, and decked their rooms with evergreens and the 
appurtenances of summer. Passing thinly clad from one castle to another, 
many of these devotees caught cold and died. Some were frozen to death 
in the snow. And yet these courts of love served a purpose in the im- 
provement of manners and the elevation of the race. "They rescued 
woman," says Van Laun, " from what would have become a condition of 
intolerable degradation; encouraged devotion in the stronger sex, grace 
and propriety in the weaker; and when the institutions themselves dis- 
appeared, there remained at all events the developed taste and courtesy 
for womankind." 
^ sojourn. 



48 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

the presence of the king, who with stern visage inquires 
why he comes so late unto the court. 

*' Forsooth, my liege," quoth I, 
" An hundred times have I ben at the gate 
Afore this time, yet could I never espy 
Of mine acquaintance any in mine eye, 
And shamefacedness away me gan to chase. 
But now I me submit unto your grace." 

Then the book of the statutes of the court was 
brought out and placed before him, that he might 
" read and see what thing we must observe in Love's 
Court till that we die and sterve.^ " Afterwards, in ac- 
cordance with the poetical custom of the Troubadours,^ 
he was introduced to the lady Rosiall, with whom he 
had fallen in love while dreaming. 

Her head was round by compass of nature, 
Her hair as gold, she passed all on love, 
And lily forehead had this creature, 
With liveliche brows, flaw ^ of color pure, 
Between the which was mean disseverance 
From every brow, to show a due distance. 

Her nose directed straight, and even as a line, 

With form and shape thereto convenient. 

In which the goddes milk-white path doth shine, 

And eke * her eyen ben bright and orient,^ 

As is the smaragde,^ unto my judgment. 

Or yet those stars Heavenly small and bright, 

Her visage is of lovely red and white. 

Her mouth is short, and shut in little space. 
Flaming some deal, not over red I mean. 
With pregnant lips, and thick to kiss percase ; ^ 



1 perish. ^ j^gg ^ote i, p. 46. ^ yellow. 

* also. ^ shining. " emerald. "' perchance. 



THE COURT OF LOVE. 49' 

For lippes thin, not fat, but ever lean, 
They serve of naught, they be not worth a bean, 
For if the basse ^ be full there is delight — 
Maximian ^ truly thus doth he write. 

About her neck a flower of fresh devise, 
With rubies set, that lusty ^ were to seene ; 
And she in gown was light and summer wise, 
Shapen full well, the color was of green. 
With aureat* sent about her sides clean. 
With divers stones precious and rich, — 
Thus was she rayed, yet saw I never her lich." 

The poem ends with a description of the celebration 
of the Festival of Love on May-day, wherein the birds 
are represented as chanting in honor of the god of 
love a parody of the Catholic matin service for Trinity 
Sunday : — 

To matens went the lusty nightingale. . . . 
And "Dotnine labia, '^ gan he cry and gale,® 
" My lippes open lord of love I cry. 
And let my mouth thy praising now bewry.'^" 

The eagle sang " Veiiite, bodies all. 

And let us joy to love that is our health." . . , 

Then sayd the faucon, our own hertes wealth, 

^^Domine Dominus nosier I wote. 

Ye be the god that doth us burn thus bote." 

" Coeli euarrani,''^ said the popingay, 

"Your might is told in heaven and firmament." 

And then came in the goldfinch freshe and gay, 
And said this psalme with hertily glad intent, 
"Domine est terra," this laten intent. 



^ kiss. From French baisser. Hence the vulgar word buss. 
2 The author of six elegies sometimes ascribed to Gallus. He lived 
about the sixth century. 

^ pleasant. * golden color. ^ like. ^ sing. "^ discover. 



50 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

The god of love hath yerth in governaunce : 
And then the wren gan skippen and to daunce. 

" Jube Domino O lord of love, I pray 
Commaund me well this lesson for to rede.^ "... 
The turtil dove said, " Welcom, welcom May, 
Gladsom and light to lovers that ben trew." . . , 
And than '■^Tu ai/ie/n,'" sang he all apart. 

" Te deum amoris,'' sang the throstel-cocke ; 
Tubal himself, the first musician, 
With key of armony coude not onlocke. 
So swete tewne as that the throstel can : 

" The lorde of love we praysen," (quod he), than 
And so done al the foules greate and lite, 
" Honor we May, in fals lovers dispite." 

"Dominus irgnavit," said the pecocke there. . . • 
Out sterte the owle with "Benedicite.^^ . . . 
"Laudate,^^ sang the larke with voice ful shril, 
And eke the kight "O admirabikr . . . 
"Amen," said al, and so said eke the pie.^ 

And forth the cockow gan procede anon, 
With ^^Benedictus " thanking God in hast, 
That in this May would visite them echon,^ 
And gladden them al while the feast shal last. 
And therewithal a laughter out he brast,'* 
" I thanke it God that I should end the song, 
And all the service which hath ben so long." 

Thus sang they all the service of the feste. 
And that was done right erly to my dome, 
And forth goth all the court both most and lest. 
To fetch the floures fresh, and braunch and blome, 
And namely hauthorn brought both page and grome, 
With fresh garlants party blew and white, 
And then rejoysen in their great dehte. 

1 understand. ^ magpie. ^ each one. * burst. 



Efte jnotoer anti tfje Heat 



o>«^c 



"The Flower and the Leaf," formerly supposed to be 
the work of Chaucer, was probably written about fifty 
years after his death. Internal evidence seems to point 
to the conclusion that it was written by a woman. Its 
leading motive is of French origin, and its plan is briefly 
summarized in a prose note of introduction, the work of 
a later hand. 

"A gentlewoman, out of an arbour in a grove, seeth a 
great companie of knights and ladies in a daunce upon 
the greene grasse : the which being ended, they all 
kneele doune and do honour to the daisie, some to the 
flower, and some to the leafe. Afterwards this gentle- 
woman learneth by one of these ladies the meaning 
hereof, which is this : They which honour the flower, a 
thing fading with every blast, are such as looke after 
beautie and worldly pleasure. But they that honour the 
leafe, which abideth with the root, notwithstanding the 
frosts and winter storms, are they which follow vertue 
and during qualities, without regard of worldly respects." 
Those of the ladies who were servants unto the leaf 
were dressed in white, and they with their queen repre- 
sented Chastity. The cavaliers who accompanied them 
were the Knights of the Round Table, the Peers of 
Charlemagne, and the Knights of the Garter, " that in 
their time did right worthily." The ladies who did hom- 

51 



52 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

age to the flower were dressed in green, and their queen 
was Flora, the goddess of the flowers. And these were 
the " folk that loved idleness, 

And not delight in no business, 

But for to hunt and hawk. and play in medes, 

And many other such-like idle deeds." 

The following interpretation of the allegory has been 
offered by a late writer : " The ' Flower and the Leaf ' 
represent two of the badges usual in mediaeval heraldry. 
A flower, the rose, is the badge of England ; a leaf, the 
shamrock, is the badge of Ireland. In Chaucer's time 
there was a current argument in chivalry as to the rel- 
ative significance of leaves and flowers. At the wed- 
ding of Philippa, daughter of John of Gaunt, with King 
John I., of Portugal, a poet wrote a poem in honor of 
Philipp^a, giving to the flower superiority over the leaf 
as having fairer scent, color, and promise of fruit. Chau- 
cer, as an offset to this, from the English side, wrote 
the ' Flower and the Leaf in compliment to the bride- 
groom." 

M. Taine, writing of this poem, says : " Is this alle- 
gory } There is at least a lack of wit. There is no 
ingenious enigma ; it is dominated by fancy, and the 
poet thinks only of displaying in quiet verse the fleeting 
and brilliant train which had amused his mind and 
charmed his eye." Campbell calls it " an exquisite 
piece of fairy fancy. With a moral that is just sufficient 
to apologize for a dream, and yet which sits so lightly 
on the story as not to abridge its most visionary parts, 
there is in the whole scenery and objects of the poem 
an air of wonder and sweetness that is truly magical." 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. S3 

FROM "THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF." 

A MORNING WALK. 

And up I roos three houres after twelfe, 
Aboute the [erly] springing of the day ; 
And on I putte my geare and mine array, 
And to a pleasaunt grove I gan to passe, 
Long or ^ the brighte Sonne up-risen was ; 

In which were okes grete, streight as a line, 
Under the which the gras, so fresh of hew, 
Was newly spronge ; and an eight foot or nine 
Every tree wel fro his fellow grew. 
With branches brode, laden with leves new. 
That sprongen out ayen ^ the sunne shene,^ 
Some very red, and some a glad light grene ; 

Which, as me thoughte, was right a plesant sight ; 
And eke the briddes songes for to here 
Would have rejoyced any earthly wight;* 
And I that couthe ^ not yet, in no manere, 
Here the nightingale of all the yere, 
Ful busily herkned with hart and ere. 
If I her voice perceive coude any-where. 

And, at the last, a path of little breede® 

I found, that gretly hadde not used be ; 

For it forgrowen was with grasse and weede, 

That well unneth a wight [ne] might it se : 

Thoght I, " This path some whider goth, parde ! " "^ 

And so I followed, till it me brought 

To right a pleasaunt herber,^ well ywrought, 



^ before. ^ against. ^ bright. * person. ^ knew. 

^ breadth. "^ far dieii, surely. ^ arbor. 



54 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

That benched was, and eke with turfes newe 
Freshly turved, whereof the grene gras, 
So small, so thicke, so short, so fresh of hewe, 
That most ylike grene wool, I wot, it was : 
The hegge also that yede in this compas,^ 
And closed in all the grene herbere, 
With sicamour was set and eglatere.^ 

And as I stood and cast aside mine eie, 

I was ware of the fairest medler-tree, 

That ever yet in all my life I sie,^ 

As full of blossomes as it mighte be ; 

Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile 

Fro bough to bough ; and, as him list, gan etc 

Of buddes here and there and floures swete. 

And to the herber side ther was joyninge 
This f aire tree, of which I have you told ; 
And at the last the brid began to singe, 
When he had eten what he ete wolde, 
So passing sweetly, that by manifolde 
It was more pleasaunt than I coude devise. 
And when his song was ended in this wise, 

The nightingale with so mery a note 

Answered him, that all the woode rong 

So sodainly, that, as it were a sote,* 

I stood astonied ; so was I with the song 

Thorow ^ ravished, that till late and longe, 

Ne wist^ I in what place I was, ne where ; 

And ay, me thoughte, she song even by mine ere. 



1 went round about. 2 eglantine, hawthorn. ^ saw. 

* dunce, sot. ^ thoroughly. ^ knew. 



THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 55 

Wherefore about I waited busily, 
On every side, if that I her mighte see ; 
And, at the last, I gan full well aspie ^ 
Where she sat in a fresh grene laurer^ tree, 
On the further side, even right by me. 
That gave so passing a delicious smell, 
According to the eglantere full well. 

Whereof I had so inly great pleasure. 
That, as me thought, I surely ravished was 
Into Paradise, where my desire 
Was for to be, and no ferther passe 
As for that day, and on the sote grasse 
I sat me downe, for as for mine entent, 
The birdes song was more convenient, 

And more pleasaunt to me by many fold, 
Than meat, or drinke, or any other thing, 
Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold. 
The wholesome savours eke so comforting. 
That as I demed, sith the beginning 
Of the world was never seen er^ than 
So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man. 



L'ENVOIE. 



O little booke, thou art so unconning, 

How darst thou put thyself in prees for drede ? 

It is wonder that thou wexestnot rede ! 

Sith that thou wost full lite, who shall behold 

Thy rude language full boistously unfold. 



see, spy, perceive. * laurel. ^ gf than, before then. 



^ije Curftob) anti tlje Nigijtingalc, 



This poem was probably written by Chaucer. It 
opens with a long prologue describing the circumstances 
connected with the author's dreaming. 

As I lay this other night waking, 
I thought how lovers had a tokening, 
And among them it was a common tale 
That it were good to hear the nightingale 
Rather than the lewd ^ cuckow sing. 

And then I thought anon, as it was day, 

I would go somewhere to assay ^ 

If that I might a nightingale hear. 

For yet had I none heard of all that year, 

And it was then the third night of May. 

And anon, as I the day espied. 

No longer would I in my bed abide, 

But unto a wood that was fast by, 

I went forth alone, boldly. 

And held the way down by a brook-side. 

Till I came to a land of white and green. 

So fair one had I never in been, 

The ground was green, ypowdered with daisy. 

The flowers and the greves*^ like hie, 

All green and white, was nothing els seen. 



^ loud, boisterous, noisy. '^ try. ^ groves. 

S6 



THE CUCKOW AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 57 

There sat I down among the fair flowers, 
And saw the birds trip out of their bowers, 
There as they rested him all the night. 
They were so joyfuU of the dayes light, 
They began of May for to done honours. 

They coud ^ that service all by rote, 
There was many a lovely note, 
Some sang loud, as they had plained 
And some in other manner voice yfained 
And some all out with full throte. 

They proyned ^ them and made them right gay, 
And danceden and lepten on the spray 
And evermore two and two in fere,^ 
Right so as they had chosen them to yere 
In Februaire upon Saint Valentines day. 

And for delight, I wote never how, 

I fell in such a slumber and a swow,* 

Not all asleep, nor fully waking, 

And in that swow, methought, I hearde sing 

The sorry bird, the lewd cuckow. 

And that was on a tree right fast by. 

But who was then evil afraid but I ? 

" Now God," quoth I, " that died on the crois,* 

Give sorrow on thee, and on thy leud voice. 

Full little joy have I now of thy cry." 

And as I with the cuckow thus gan chide, 

I heard in the next bush beside 

A nightingale so lustily sing 

That with her clear voice she made ring 

Through all the greene wood wide. 

knew. 2 plumed. ^ pairs. * dream. ^ cross. 



58 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

But now I will you tell a wonder thing, 
As long as I lay in that swouning, 
Methought I wist what the birds meant, 
And what they said, and what was their intent, 
And of their speech I had good knowing. 

The poet then proceeds to relate how the two birds dis- 
pute about the blessings of love. The cuckoo declares 
that the passion leads only to misery and disappoint- 
ment, while the nightingale that it is productive of hap- 
piness alone. The dispute finally waxes so warm, and 
the nightingale sings so loudly, that the poet can bear 
to hear the cuckoo no longer. 

Methought then that I stert out anon. 
And to the brook I run and got a stone, 
And at the cuckow heartily I cast ; 
And he for dread fly away full fast, 
And glad was I when that he was gone. 

The nightingale thanks him and says : — 

" Every day this May ere thou dine, 

Go look upon the fresh daisy, 

And though thou be for wo in point to die. 

That shall full greatly lessen thee of thy pine.* 

" And look alway that thou be good and true, 
And I will sing one of the songes new 
For love of thee, as loud as I may cry." 

It is then decided that a parliament of the birds shall 
be held on the day after St. Valentine's Day, at which 
this vexed question of love must be decided. The poem 
may thus be regarded as an introduction to " The Par- 
lament of Foules " 

^ pain. 1 



Efje Parlament of jToules.^ 

In the opening stanzas of the piece the poet relates 
how, once upon a time " naught yore agon," he was 
reading from the sixth book of Cicero " On The Re- 
public," that portion which relates to Scipio's dream of 
the immortality of the soul. 

It happed me to behold 
Upon a booke wus ywritten with letters old. 
And thereupon a certain thing to lerne, 
The long day full fast I radde and yerne.^ 
For out of the old feldes as men saithe, 

Cometh al this new corne fro yere to yere. 
And out of old bookes, in good faithe, 

Cometh al this new science that men lere. 

The sixth to the twelfth stanzas embrace an abstract 
of Scipio's dream — that famous production which had 
been the theme of no little discussion among the scholars 
of the Middle Ages. 

First telleth it when Scipion^ was come 
In Affricke, how he meteth Massinisse, 



1 The spelling in these extracts is as in Tyrwhitt's edition of Chaucer's 
works. 2 Pondered and yearned. 

2 Scipio Africanus, the younger, born about the year 185 B.C., died 129 
B.C. He was the adopted son of Publius Cornelius Scipio. Masinissa, 
king of the Numidians, was the ally of the Romans in the war against 
Carthage, 204-202 B.C. He died in 148 B.C., at the age of ninety years, 
Jeaving the affairs of his kingdom to be settled by young Scipio. 

59 



60 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

That him for joy, in armes hath ynvine^ ; 
Then telleth he his speach and all the blisse 
That was betwixt hem til the day gan misse, 
And how his anncester, Affrikan^ so dere, 
Gan in his slepe that night til him appere. 

Then telleth it that from a sterrie place, 
How Affrikan hath him Cartage shewed, 
And warned him before of all his grace, 
And said him, what man lered eyther lewde,' 
That loveth common profite well ithewde,* 
He should into a blissful place wend. 
There as the joy is without any end. 

Then asked he, if folke that here been dede 
Have life and dwelling in another place ? 
And Affrikan said, " Ye, without any drede," * 
And how our present lives space 
Ment but a maner death, what way we trace, 
And rightfull folke shull gon after they die 
To Heaven, and shewed him the Galaxie.* 

Then shewed he him the little earth that here is 

To regard of the Heavens quantite. 

And after shewed he hym the nine speris,^ 

And after that the melodie heard he, 

That commeth of thilke speres thrise three, 

That welles of musicke been and melodie 

In this world here, and cause of armonie. 



1 taken. 

2 Affrikan. Scipio Africanus, the elder, the conqueror of Hannibal. 
He was born in the year 234 B.C., died about 183 B.C. He was the father 
of Publius Cornelius Scipio. 

^ learned or ignorant. * conducted, behaved. 

^ doubt, fear. ^ Milky Way. 

^ The Ptolemaic theory of astronomy was that all the heavenly bodies 
revolved about the earth, being fixed in a series of crystaUinc spheres mov- 
ing concentrically one within another. Thus there was a crystalline sphere 



THE PARLAMENT OF FOULES. 61 

Then said he him, sens Earth was so lite, 
And full of torment and of harde grace, 
That he ne should him in this world delite. 
Then told he him, in certain yeres space. 
That every sterre should come into his place — 
There it was first, and all should out of mind 
That in this world is done of all mankind. 

Then prayed him, Scipion, to tell him all 
The way to come into that Heaven blisse. 
And he said : " First know thy selfe immortall, 
And loke ale besely that thou werche and wisse 
To common profite, and thou shalt not misse 
To come swiftly unto that place dere, 
That full of bliss is and of soules clere. 

And breakers of the law, soth to saine,^ 
And likerous^ folke, after that they been dede, 
Still whirle about the world alway in paine 
Till many a world be passed out of drede ; 
Then shullen they come to that blisfull place, 
To which to comen, God send thee grace. 

Thus reading until the " day gan fallen," the poet was 
finally obliged for lack of light to lay aside his book and 
retire to his bed. Being weary, he soon fell asleep and 
dreamed of that which had last occupied his mind while 
awake. 

The wearie hunter, sleeping in his bedde, 

The wood ayen his mind goeth anone ; 

The judge dremeth how his plees be spedde ; 



or whorl for the sun, the moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Saturn, Jupiter, and 
the fixed stars. To these eight spheres a ninth was added which Milton 
describes as " the swift nocturnal and diurnal rhomb." " On each sphere 
a siren sits singing. Their eight tones make exquisite harmony." Here 
we find the origin of the expression, " Music of the spheres." So Job 
xxxviii. 7, " When the morning stars sang together." 

^ truth to tell. ^ lecherous, wicked. 



62 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

The carter dremeth how his cartes gone ; 
The rich, of gold ; the knight fights with his fone^ ; 
The sicke mette* he drinketh of the tonne ^; 
The lover mette he hath his lady wonne. 

Is it any wonder then that the poet should dream of 
" Affrikan " ? The latter, taking the former by the hand, 
says : " Thou hast thee so well borne in looking of mine 
old booke, that some dele of thy labor would I quite." 
And he leads him into a park walled with green stope 
and full of trees clad with leaves : — 

The bilder oke, and eke the hardy asshe, 
The piller elme, the coffre unto caraine, 
The box pipe tree, holme to whippes lasshe, 
The sailing firre, the cipres death to plaine, 
The shooter ewe, the aspe for shaftes plaine, 
The olive of peace, and eke the dronken vine, 
The victor palme, the laurer too divine.^ 

On every bough there were singing birds, while among 
the trees and on the grassy lawn were seen " the dredful^ 
roe, the buck, the hart, the hind, squirrels, and beastes 
small of gentle kind." There also the poet saw Cupid 
with his arrows, and Pleasaunce, Lust, Beauty, Youth, 
Flattery, Messagerie, Meed, and many other allegorical 
personages. A temple of brass, "yfounded strong," 
stood in the wood, and around it danced a company of 
women, some of whom were 

Faire of hemself, and some of hem were gay. 

Before the temple door sat Peace, and beside her was 
pale-faced Patience. Within the temple were many 

^ sword, weapon. ^ dreameth. ^ tun, barrel. 

* Compare this with- Spenser's Catalogue of Trees. See page 102. 

* fearful, timid. 



THE PARLAMENT OF FOULES. 63 

Strange sights and sounds and " a thousand savours 
soote." There sat Venus with Bacchus at her side, and 
Ceres next, and Cupid in the midst. Upon the walls 
were painted the stories of Semiramis, Candace, and 
Hercules, Biblis, Dido, Thisbe and Pyramus, Tristram 
and Isoude, Paris, Achilles, Helen, Cleopatra, Troilus, 
"and eke the mother of Romulus." Walking forth 
among the trees, the poet observed that all the birds, 
"of every kind that men thinke may," had assembled 
there and were making a noise " so huge that earth, sea, 
and tree, and every lake " was full of it. For this was 
St. Valentine's Day, " when every foule cometh to 
chese his mate." 

There might men the royall egle find, 

That with his sharpe looke perseth the Sun, 

And other egles of a lower kinde, 

Of which that clerkes ^ well devisen ^ con ; 

There was the tyrant with his fethers don,^ 

And grene, I mean the goshauke that doth pine* 

To birdes, for his outragious ravine.^ 

The gentle faucon, that with his fete distreineth 
The kings hand, the hardy sperhauke eke. 
The quailes foe, the merlion that peineth 
Himself full oft the larke for to seke. 
There was the dove, with her eyen meke, 
The jelous swan, ayenst his deth that singeth, 
The oul eke, that of deth the bode'' bringeth. 

The crane, the geaunt,^ with his trompes ^ soune, 
The thief the chouch, and the chattring pie. 
The scorning jaye, the eles ^ foe the heroune, 



1 scholars. ^ understand. ^ dun. ♦ devour, torture. 

^ ravenousness. ^ foreboding. ^ the giant crane. 

* trumpet. ^ eel's. 



64 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

The false lapwing, full of treacherie, 
The stare/ that the counsaile can bewrie,^ 
The tame ruddocke,^ and the coward kite, 
The cocke, that horiloge is of thorpes lite.* 

The sparowe Venus' son, and the nightingale 
That clepeth^ forth the fresh leaves new. 
The swalowe, murdrer of the bees smale 
That maken honie of floures fresh of hew, 
The wedded turtell ^ with his herte true, 
The pecocke, with his angel fethers bright. 
The fesaunt, scorner of the^cocke by night. 

The waker^ gose, the cuckowe ever unkind. 

The popingey, full of delicasy, 

The drake, stroier ® of his owne kind. 

The storke, wreker of aduoutry, 

The hote cormeraunt, ful of glotony, 

The ravin and the crowe, with her voice of care. 

The throstell olde, and the frostie feldefare. 

What should I say ? of foules of every kind. 
That in this worlde have fethers and stature. 
Men might in that place assembled find, 
Before that noble goddess of Nature, 
And eche of them did his busie cure,^ 
Benignely^" to chese, or for to take 
By her accorde, his formell " or his make.^ 

Then follows a debate between the birds to decide 
the claims of three if^;rr/ eagles for the possession of a 
beautiful formel (female) of the same species, which 
Nature holds on her hand. The arguments are long 



^ starling. "^ discover. ^ robin red-breast. 

* that is the clock of little towns. ^ calleth. '' turtle-dove. 

' watcher. ^ destroyer. ® care. "^^ wisely. 

^^ female. "^"^ mate. 



THE PARLAMENT OF FOULES. 65 

and somewhat animated, and are continued until Dame 
Nature, who has all the time acted as the moderator of 
the assembly, decides that the formel " herselfe shall 
have her election," counselling her, however, to take the 
royal tercel " as for the gentilest and most worthy." 
She answers that she would prefer to wait a year ; and 
Nature therefore consoles the three suitors with the 
remark, — 

A yere is not so long to endure ; 

and the assembly is soon dispersed. Then Chaucer 

says : — 

I woke, and other bookes took me to, 
To rede upon, and yet I rede alway, 
I hope ywis to rede so some day, 
That I shall mete something for to fare ^ 
The bet,'^ and thus to rede I nill not spare. 

The fact is that, in the conception and composition of 
this poem, Chaucer was indebted to many of the books 
which he thus " took him to." First, as we have already 
noticed, to the episode of the dream of Scipio, in Cic- 
ero's treatise on " The Republic " ; second, to " La 
Teseide " of Boccaccio, from which he reproduced six- 
teen stanzas ; third, to Dante's " Inferno," a passage 
which gave him the suggestion for at least two stanzas, 
the nineteenth and twentieth ; fourth, to Alain de 
ITsle's treatise, De Planctu NaturcB, from which he 
probably derived the idea of the personification of 
Nature. Thus, "out of old bookes, in good faithe," he 
did find something " for to fare the bet." 

1 do. "^ better. 



Efje f^ouse of JFame, 



oXKc 



"The House of Fame" bears every evidence of 
being a genuine production of Chaucer's, and we find 
nothing in any other similar work of the time which 
excels the poetic quality of its imagery or the brilliancy 
of its descriptions. It is written in Trouvere octo-syllabic 
measure, and bears other traces of both French and 
Italian influences. The object of the allegory is to 
show " how the deedes of all men and women, be they 
good or bad, are carried by report to posterite." An 
eagle, which soars near the sun, suddenly pounces upon 
the poet and carries him above the stars, dropping him 
at last before the House of Fame. The temple or 
house is built on a high and almost inaccessible moun- 
tain of ice. The names of great men are engraven 
upon it ; but those on the south side are constantly 
melted away by the heat of the sun, while those on 
the north endure. On the turrets appear the minstrels 
and great harpers of all time, and there are myriads 
of musicians behind them. Within, the hall is plated 
with gold overlaid with pearls, and upon a dazzling 
throne sits the queen or goddess of Fame. From the 
throne to the doorway are rows of pillars of metal on 
which stand the great historians and poets. Josephus, 
"that of Jewes gestes told," stands on one of lead and 
iron; Statins, "that bare of Thebes up the name," 

66 



THE HOUSE OF FAME. 67 

stands on one of iron painted with tigers' blood ; Virgil, 
that " hath bore up a long while the fame of plus 
Eneas," stands on a pillar of tinned iron; Ovid, "Ve- 
nus's clerk," on one of copper; " Dan Lucan," and all 
the clerks that wrote of Rome's mighty works, on 
pillars of iron ; and 

Next him on a pillar stood, 
Of sulphur liche as he were wood, 
Dan Claudian, sothe for to tell 
That bare up all the fame of Hell. 

From this place the poet is conducted to the temple, 
or labyrinth of Rumor — a strange building sixty miles 
in length, and with doors as numerous as the leaves on 
the trees. The inhabitants are chiefly sailors, pilgrims, 
and pardoners, who spend all their time in hearing and 
telling the news. While in the midst of his description 
of this temple, the author is awakened, and the poem 
closes abruptly. 

EXTRACTS FROM "THE HOUSE OF FAME." 

THE HALL OF THE GODDESS OF FAME. 

Lo, how should I now tell all this ? 
Ne of the hall, eke what need is 
To tellen you that every wall 
Of it, and rofe and flore with all 
Was plated halfe a foote thicke 
Of golde, and that n'as not wicke,^ 
But for to prove in all wise 
As fine as ducket in Venise, 

1 weak, impure. 



68 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Of which too lite all in my pouche is. 

And they were set as thick of ouches^ 

Fine, of the finest stones faire 

That men reden^ in the lapidaire,^ 

Or as grasses growen in a mede.* 

But it were all too long to rede 

The names, and therefore I pace 

But in this lustie and riche place 

That Fames hall called was . . . 

All on hie above a dees^ 

Sat in a see imperiall, 

That made was of ruble royall 

Which that a carbuncle is ycalled, 

I sawe, perpetually installed, 

A feminine creature 

That never formed by nature 

Was such another thing, I sale. 

Me thought that she was so lite^ 

That the length of a cubite 

Was longer than she seemed be; 

But thus soon in a while she 

Herself tho wonderly streight 

That with her feet she th' erthe streight ^ 

And with her hedde she touched Heaven. 

There as shineth the sterres seven, 

And thereto yet, as to my wit, 

I saw a great wonder yet. 

Upon her eyen to behold : — 

But certainly I hem never told. 

For as fele^ eyen had she 

As fethers upon foules be, 



1 brooches, jewels. ^ read about. ^ a treatise on stones. 

* meadow. ^ jais. ^ little. "^ stretched. ^ many. 



THE HOUSE OF FAME. 69 

Or weren on the beastes four 
That Goddes trone can honour, 
As writeth John in the Apocalips. 
Her heer, that was oundie and crips,^ 
As burned gold it shone to see. 
And sothe to tellen, also shee 
Had also fele upstanding eares, 
And tongues as on a beast been heares^; 
And on her feete woxen ^ saw I, 
Partriche winges redily. 
But Lord the perrie * and the richesse 
I saw sitting on the goddesse ! 
And the heavenly melodie 
Of songes full of armonie 
I heard about her trone ysong, 
That all the palais wall rong. 
So sung the mighty Muse, she 
That cleped is Caliope, 
And her seven sisterne eke, 
That in her faces seemen meke. 
And evermore eternally 
They sung of Fame, though heard I, 
" Heried^ be thou and thy name, 
Goddess of renoun and of fame ! " 



DOMUS DEDALI (THE LABYRINTH OF RUMOR). 

Then sawe I stand in a valey, 
Under the castell fast by. 
An house that domus Dcdali, 
That Laborintus ycleped is. . . . 



^ curled and crisp. ^ hairs. 3 growing. * jewels. ^ blessed. 



70 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And ever all the houses angles 

Is full of rownings and of jangles 

Of werres, of peace, of manages, 

Of restes, and of labour, of viages, 

Of abode, of death, and of lyfe. 

Of love, of hate, accord, of strife, 

Of losse, of lore and of winnings 

Of heale, of sickness, or of lesings,^ 

Of faire weather, and eke of tempests, 

Of qualme,^ of folke, and of beests, 

Of divers transmutacions. 

Of estates, and eke of regions, 

Of trust, of drede, of jalousie. 

Of witte, of winning, of folie, 

Of plenty, and of great famine, 

Of chepe,^ derth, and of ruine, 

Of good or misgovernment. 

Of fire, and of divers accident. 

And lo, this house of which I write, 
Syker^ be ye it n'as not lite ; 
For it was sixtie mile of length, 
Al was the timber of no strength. 
Yet it is founded to endure, 
While that it list to aventure. 
That is the mother of tidings. 
As the sea of welles and of springs 
And it was shaped like a cage. 



^ falsehoods. ^ sickness. ^ selling, merchandise * sure. 



lilltam ©unljar antj jjts ^llrgortcs. 



oJ*{c 



William Dunbar was a Scotch poet who lived and 
wrote in the latter part of the fifteenth and the first years 
of the sixteenth century. " No poet, from Chaucer 
till his own time, equalled him," says Morley, " in the 
range of his genius. He could pass from broad jest to a 
pathos truer for its homeliness ; he had a play of fancy 
reaching to the nobler heights of thoughts ; a delicacy 
joined with a terse vigor of expression in short poems 
that put the grace of God into their worldly wisdom." 
The best known of his allegories is " The Thistle and 
the Rose," written in celebration of the marriage of 
James IV. of Scotland with Margaret Tudor, daughter 
of Henry VH. of England. The poem is carefully con- 
structed after its Chaucerian models, not only as to the 
versification, but also as to the narration. It opens with 
reference to spring, the varying winds of March, the 
silvery showers of April, and the birds and flowers of 
May. 

In bed at morrow sleeping as I lay, 
Methought Aurora, with her crystal ene ^ 
In at the window looked by the day, 
And hailed me with a visage pale and grene : 
On whose hand a lark sang, fro the splene,^ 
" Awake, lovers, out of your slumbering. 
See how the lusty morrow ^ doth upspring ! " 

^ eyes. ^ heart- ^ lovely morning. 

71 



72 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Methought fresh May before my bed upstood. 
In weeds depaint ^ of many diverse hue, 
Sober, benign and full of raansuetude,^ 
In bright attire of flowers forged new. 
Heavenly of color, white, red, brown and blue, 
Balmed in dew, and gilt with Phebus' beams ; 
While all the house, illumined by her, gleams. 

May then rebukes the poet for not rising earlier, and 
bids him be up and perform his annual homage to the 
flowers, the birds, and the sun, by writing something in 
her honor. The sun then rises in the Orient, and shines 
" so wonder clear, that all the world took comfort far 
and near." Then the birds began to sing : " Hail, May ; 
hail. Flora; hail, Aurora bright; hail, Princess Nature; 
hail, Venus, love's queen." And Nature commands 
that Neptune and Eolus shall place no more hindrances 
in the way of Spring's progress. She also summons 
everything to appear in her presence and to acknowl- 
edge her sovereignty. All the animals are assembled 
before her. First of the beasts came the Lion, in whom 
the poet meant to typify Scotland, and whom he de- 
scribes as he appeared on the Scottish arms, — 

Red was his color as the ruby glance. 
In field of gold he stood full mightily, 
With fleur de luces circled lustily. 

He is crowned with a radiant diadem of precious 
stones, and declared king of all beasts. The Eagle, 
which typifies England, is likewise crowned king of all 
birds. Then the Thistle, which represents King James, 
being surrounded with a bush of spears, and therefore 
ready for war, is crowned with rubies and bidden to go 



clothing colored. ^ kindness. 



WILLIAM DUNBAR AND HIS ALLEGORIES. 73 

forth "into the field and fend the laif," — defend the 
rest. Lastly, the Rose, the Princess Margaret, is 
crowned with clarified gems, the splendor of which 
illumines the whole land. The merle, the lark, the 
nightingale, all join in singing her praises, and in so 
doing wake the poet from his dream. 

The* Golden Terge. — Another allegory, written by 
Dunbar, " The Golden Terge," was one of the first works 
printed in Scotland, being issued from the press of 
Chepman & Myllar — the first set up in that country — 
in 1508. It is plainly an imitation of the " Romaunt of 
the Rose " in both style and imagery. It opens in the 
manner common to so many poems of the time, with the 
morning in May, the rising sun, and the singing birds. 
The poet, lulled by the music of nature, falls asleep 
among the flowers. In a dream he sees a ship ap- 
proaching, the sails of which are white as " the blossom 
upon the spray," and the masts are of gold, "bright as 
the star of day." She comes to land in the blooming 
meadows, and a hundred ladies in green kirtles step on 
shore. In this company the poet sees Nature, Queen 
Venus, the fresh Aurora, Lady May, the shining Flora, 
Diana, goddess of the chase, Lady Clio, Juno, Latona, 
Minerva, and others. They enter a garden where May, 
the queen of the mirthful months, receives from Nature 
a gorgeous robe, — 

Rich to behold and noble of renown, 

Of every hue that under the heaven has been 

Depaint, and broad by good proportion. 

Then another group appears. Cupid, "with his 
dreadful arrows, sharp and square," presides. And 
Mars, strong and corpulent, Saturn, " old and hoar," 



74 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

and Mercury, wise and eloquent, all are there arrayed 
in green, and playing and singing while the ladies dance. 
The poet, pressing forward from his hiding-place among 
the flowers, is seen by Venus, who orders her " keen 
archers " to arrest him. The ladies at once let fall their 
green mantles and advance against him, each holding a 
huge bow. First in the attack comes Beauty, fallowed 
by Fair Having, and Portraiture, and Pleasaunce, and 
Lusty Cheer. Then Reason rushes to the rescue, 
bearing a shield of gold, the "golden terge." Beauty 
and Tender Youth, Green Innocence, Modesty, and 
Obedience are unable to harm the golden shield. Then 
Womanhood comes to the attack, leading with her 
Patience, Discretion, Steadfastness, Benign Look, Mild 
Cheer, and Honest Business. 

But Reason bare the Terge with sic Constance, 
Their sharp essay might do me no deirance. 

Dignity, Renown, Riches, Nobility, and Honor, after 
displaying their " high banner," and shooting a cloud of 
arrows, are obliged to retreat. At length Dissimulation, 
with Presence, Fair Calling, and Cherishing, as her 
archers, leads the attack. Presence throws a magical 
powder into the eyes of Reason, who reels like a drunken 
man and is banished to the greenwood. The poet, no 
longer protected by the golden terge, receives a deadly 
wound, and is at once taken prisoner by Beauty. Then 
" Eolus his bugle blows," the fair company flee in haste 
to the ship and sail away. But as they fire a parting 
salute from the ordnance on board, the roar of which is 
re-echoed by the rocks " with a sound as if the rainbow 
had been broken," the poet awakes and breaks out at 



WILLIAM DUNBAR AND HIS ALLEGORIES. 75 

once into an encomium on Chaucer, Gower, and Lydgate, 
And this is what he says of Chaucer : — 

O reverend Chaucer, rose of rhetorics all, 
As in our tongue a flower imperial 

That rose in Britain ever, who reads right, 
Thou bearest of poets the triumph royal : 
Thy fresh, enamelled terms celestial 

This matter could have shown full bright : 
Wast thou nocht of our English all the light, 
Surmounting every tongue terrestrial 

As far as May's morrow does midnight. 

Dunbar's " Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins " is the 
first intimation of a radical departure from the worn-out 
models of Chaucer and the romance poets. It is the 
first example, too, of comic satire veiled in allegory. 
Mahomet, or the devil, commands a dance to be per- 
formed by the fiends who have never made concessions 
to a priest. These immediately appear and begin the 
performance of a masque or mummery "just imported 
from France." Pride, Anger, Envy, Avarice, Sloth, 
Lust, and Gluttony are each painted in glaring but 
faithful colors. In this infernal dance no minstrels 
play, for no poet or gleeman ever went to hell " except 
one who committed murder, and was admitted by brief 
of rich ty 

The poem abounds in vivid description mingled with 
coarse humor and fantastic, even terrible, representa- 
tions. " It is a singular compound of farce and ear- 
nest," says Alexander Smith. " It is Spenser and 
Hogarth combined — the wildest grotesquerie wrought 
on a background of penal flame." 



Stephen Hawes was a favorite at the court of 
Henry VII. and groom of the King's chamber. Born 
in Suffolk about the year 1483, he was educated at 
Oxford, and afterwards travelled extensively in France, 
where he acquired a thorough mastery of the French 
language. No other Englishman of his time had so 
complete a knowledge of French and Italian poetry, 
and he could repeat from memory the works of most 
of the older English poets. He died at the age of 
twenty-nine. His works possess in themselves but little 
interest, and have been very aptly characterized as 
"monuments of the bad taste of a bad age." 

" The Temple of Glasse " is plainly an imitation of 
Chaucer's "House of Fame." It was printed in 1500, 
when Hawes was but seventeen years old. It begins 
thus : — 

Me did oppress a sudden, deadly sleep, 
Within the which methought that I was 
Ravished in spirit into a Temple of Glass, 
I ne wist how ful far in wilderness 
That founded was, all by likeliness, 
Not upon steel, but on a craggy rock 
Like ice yfroze ; and, as I did approach, 
Against the sun it shone, methought, as clear 
As any crystal ; and ever near and near. 

76 



THE ALLEGORIES OF STEPHEN HA WES. 77 

As I gan nigh ^ this grisly, dreadful place 

I waxed astonied," the light so in my face 

Began to smite, so piercing ever in one, 

On every part where that I did gone 

That I ne might nothing as I would 

About me consider, and behold 

The wonder chambers, for brightness of the sun. 

Till, at the last, certain skies dun 

With wind ychased, had their course ywent 

Before the streams of Titan ^ and yblent,* 

So that I might within and without, 

Whereso I would, beholden me about, 

For to report the fashion and manure 

Of all this place, that was circulere 

In compass-wise, round by entail ywrought. 

And when I had long gone and well sought, 

I found a wicket, and entered in as fast 

Into the temple, and mine eyen cast 

On every side. 

A more pretentious allegory, and one having some 
slight merit, in spite of its prolixity and dulness, is " The 
Pastime of Pleasure ; or, the History of Grand Amoure 
and la Bel Pucell," " contayning the knowledge of the 
seven sciences, and the course of man's lyfe in this 
worlde." It is dedicated to King Henry VII., and was 
probably finished in 1506. It is written in the stereo- 
typed form, and with the inevitable accessories of a 
spring morning and a walk in the meadows. Grand 
Amoure, who is here represented as the poet himself, 
comes in the course of his walk to two highways, one of 
which is the path of Contemplation, the other of Active 
Life. He chooses the latter way, and in it he meets 
Fame, with her two milk-white greyhounds, Grace and 

1 gan nigh, approached. '^ grew astonished. 

2 streams of Titan, rays of the sun. * mingled. 



,78 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Governance. She rides on a beautiful palfrey which is 
none other than Pegasus, and is encircled with tongues 
of fire. By her Grand Amoure is informed of a match- 
less lady named Bel Pucell, who lives in a tower upon an 
enchanted island, and who can be reached only after sur- 
mounting many difficulties. Following the suggestions 
of Fame, who presents him with her two greyhounds, 
our hero visits the castle of Doctrine, a fortress made of 
copper, and built upon a craggy rock. Doctrine intro- 
duces him to her seven daughters — the seven sciences. 
These are Grammar, who delivers a learned oration ; 
Logic, who dismisses him with a grave exhortation ; 
Rhetoric, seated in a gorgeous chamber strewn with 
flowers and adorned with mirrors ; Arithmetic, upon the 
walls of whose chamber the three fundamental rules are 
painted in gold ; Music, in whose crystal tower the hero 
meets and is enamoured with the lady of the enchanted 
island, the Bel Pucell ; Geometry, who also sits in a 
wondrous tower; and Astronomy, who dwells in a gor- 
geous pavilion in the midst of a flowery meadow. After 
many adventures with giants and dragons, each of which 
personates some human quality, the hero comes in sight 
at last of the stately palace of Bel Pucell, "walled with 
silver, and many a story upon the wall enameled royally." 
Into this palace he is received by Peace, Mercy, Justice, 
Reason, Grace, and Memory; and next morning he and 
Bel Pucell are married, according to the Catholic Ritual, 
by Lex Ecclesiae. Here one would have expected- the 
allegory to end. But the poet goes on to relate the sub- 
sequent events in his hero's life, his death and burial. 
While Remembrance is writing his elegy. Fame again 
comes forward, promising that his name shall be enrolled 
with those of Joshua, Hector, Alexander, Caesar, Arthur, 



THE ALLEGORIES OF STEPHEN HA WES. 79 

Charlemagne, Godfrey of Bouillon, and other great 
heroes. Time and Eternity, crowned with triple diadems 
of gold, pronounce an exhortation, and the poem closes 
with an epilogue, in which the author apologizes for 
having attempted to write such a fable. The allegory 
is easily interpreted ; it is designed to point out the qual- 
ities which constitute the character of a true gentleman, 
and to illustrate the progress of his education and his 
achievements in life. It is a kind of secular " Pilgrim's 
Progress," in which the pilgrim is represented as a 
knight-errant seeking for the siivinmm bonicm of this life, 
instead of that of the life which is to come. 
A single short extract will suffice : — 

In the time of old antiquity 

The noble philosophers, with their whole delight, 

For the common profit of all humanity. 

Of the seven sciences for to know the right 

They studied many a long winter's night. 

Each after the other their parts to express, — 

This was their guise to eschew idleness. 

The pampered carcase with food delicious 
They did not feed, but to their sustenance. 
They followed not their flesh so vicious, 
But ruled it by prudent governance. 
They were content alway with suffisance. 
They coveted not no worldly treasure. 
For they knew that it might not endiire. 

But now-a-days the contrary is used : ■ 
To win the money their studies be all set ; 
The common profit is often refused, 
For well is he that may the money get 
From his neighbor without any let. 
They think nothing they shall from it pass. 
When all that is shall be turned to was. 



IBouglas, iLgntirsag, antr Barclag. 



o;*:c 



Gawain Douglas, a son of that famous Earl of 
Angus who is known in history and romance as " Bell 
the Cat," was born about the year 1474, and was edu- 
cated at the University of St. Andrews. The story of 
the intrigues through which he was finally raised to the 
dignity of Bishop of Dunkeld is one of the most in- 
teresting in the annals of that stormy period. In 15 13 
he was obliged to flee from Scotland. He was kindly 
received by Henry VHI of England, who was so highly 
pleased with his work in literature that he allowed him 
a liberal pension during the rest of his life. He died in 
exile in 1521. Douglas translated into heroic rhymed 
verse the "^E^neid " of Virgil, the first metrical version 
of any classic that had yet been made in English. He 
wrote, also (in 1501), a long allegorical poem entitled 
"The Palice of Honour," in which he endeavored to 
show the vanity of human glory, and to prove that it is 
only through virtue that true happiness and honor can be 
attained. " Like the other poets, French and English, 
of the last two centuries, Douglas woke on a morning 
of May, wandered in a garden, and beheld various 
masques or revels of the goddesses, heroes, poets, vir- 
tues, vices (such as 'Busteousness'), and classical and 
Biblical worthies. In his vision he characteristically 
confused all that he happened to know of the past, 
80 



DOUGLAS, LYNDESAY, AND BARCLAY. 81 

made Sinon and Achitophel comrades in guilt and 
misfortune, while Penthesilea and Jeptha's daughter 
ranged together in Diana's company, and ' irrepreuabill 
Susane ' rode about in the troop of ' Cleopatra and 
worthie Mark Anthone.' The diverting and pathetic 
combinations of this sort still render Douglas's poems 
rich in surprises, and he occasionally does poetical jus- 
tice on the wicked men of antiquity, as when he makes 
Cicero knock down Catiline with a folio. To modern 
readers, his allegory seems to possess but few original 
qualities. His poem, indeed, is rich with descriptions 
of flowers and stately palaces ; his style, like Venus's 
throne, is 'with stones rich over fret and cloth of gold'; 
his pictures have the quaint gorgeousness and untar- 
nished hues that we admire in the paintings of Crivelli. 
But these qualities he shares with so many other poets 
of the century which preceded his own, that we find 
him most original when he is describing some scene he 
knew too well, some hour of storm and surly weather, 
the bleakness of a Scotch winter, or a ' desert terribill,' 
like that through which ' Childe Roland to the dark 
tower came.' " ^ 

Another allegorical poem written by Douglas was 
entitled " King Hart," and was a symbolical represen- 
tation of the life of man. The Heart (King Hart) 
dwells in the castle of Mansoul, and is served and 
defended by five noble counsellors, — the five senses. 
He is besieged by Dame Pleasaunce, to whom he finally 
surrenders. At length, being deserted by Youthhead, 
Disport, and Fresh Delight, he is visited by Age, is 
attacked and wounded by Decrepitude, and conquered 
by Death. 

^ Andrew Lang. 



82 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

The following brief extract, which will be found not 
easy reading, is from " The Palice of Honour " : — 

A DESERT TERRIBLE. 

My rauist spreit^ in that desert terribill, 
Approchit neir that vglie flude- horribill, 
Like tilP Cochyte* the riuer infernall, 
With vile water quhilk* maid a hiddious trubil, 
Rinnand ouirheid,'' blude reid, and impossibill 
That it had been a riuer natural! ; 
With brayis ^ bair, raif rochis * like to fall, 
Quhairon na gers^ nor herbis were visibill, 
Bot swappis^" brint" with blastis boriall. 

This laithlie '- flude rumland as thonder routit. 
In quhome ^^ the fisch yelland '^ as eluis '^ schoutit, 
Thair yelpis wilde my heiring all fordeifit,^^ 
Thay grym monstures my spreits abhorrit and doutit. 
Not throw the soyl bot muskane ^^ treis sproutit, 
Combust, barrant, vnblomit and vnleifit, 
Auld rottin runtis'* quhairin na sap was leifit, 
Moch, all waist, widderit with granis moutit, 
A ganand ^^ den, quhair murtherars men reifit.^ 

Quhairfoir^^ my seluin was richt sair agast, 
This wildernes abhominabill and waist, 
(In quhome nathing was nature comfortand) 
Was dark as rock, the quhilk the sey vpcast. 
The quhissilling-^ wind blew mony bitter blast, 
Runtis rattillit and vneith^ micht I stand. 
Out throw the wod I crap on fute and hand, 
The riuer stank, the treis clatterit fast. 
The soyl was nocht bot marres,-'* slike,-' and sand. 



1 ravished spirit. ^ flood. ^ to. * Cocytus. ^ which. 

^ running overhead. " braes, slopes. * riven rocks. ^ grass. 

^^ sedges. ^^ burnt. ^^ loathly. ^^ whom. i* screaming. 

1^ elves. 1^ deafened. ^"^ rotten. i^ trunks. ^^ proper. ^^ rob. 
21 wherefore. ^^ whistling. ^^ scarcely. ^4 marsh. ^'^ slime. 



DOUGLAS, LYNDESAY, AND BARCLAY. 83 

Sir David Lyndesay, another Scotchman prominent 
in the history of the earlier years of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, wrote chiefly on subjects connected with the men 
and events of his own time. Born in 1490, he became, 
when quite young, an inmate of the royal household, 
and was for many years attached to the service of 
King James V. He died in 1558. Among his most 
noteworthy works are "The Dreme " and the "Dialog 
concerning the Monarchic," in both of which he re- 
sorts to allegory — still one of the popular forms of 
literary composition. In the former he is led through 
a series of dissolving views of the past ages of the 
world, a journey to Hades, and a flight beyond the 
stars to an interview with " Sir Commonweal," who 
joins with him in lamentation over a realm misgoverned 
by an "ouir young king" and dissolute priests. The 
latter is in the form of a dialogue between Experience 
and a Courtier, and is an account of the most famous 
monarchies that have existed in the world. The story 
begins with the Creation, and ends with the Day of 
Judgment. In the "Complaint of the Papingo " (1530), 
written as a satire upon the vices of the clergy of his 
tim^, Lyndesay introduces a curious and somewhat 
interesting allegory of the corruptions of the Church. 
Of this allegory, Warton gives the following analy- 
sis : — 

" In the primitive and pure ages of Christianity, the 
poet supposes, that the Church married Poverty, whose 
children were Chastity and Devotion. The Emperor 
Constantine soon afterwards divorced this sober and 
decent couple ; and without obtaining or asking a dis- 
pensation, married the Church with great solemnity to 
Property. Pope Silvester ratified the marriage : and 



84 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Devotion retired to a hermitage. They had two daugh- 
ters, Riches and Sensuality, who were very beautiful, 
and soon attracted such great and universal regard 
that they acquired the chief ascendancy in all spiritual 
affairs. Such was the influence of Sensuality in par- 
ticular, that Chastity, the daughter of the Church by 
Poverty, was exiled : she tried, but in vain, to gain pro- 
tection in Italy and France. Her success was equally 
bad in England. She strove to take refuge in the 
court of Scotland : but they drove her from the court 
to the clergy. The bishops were alarmed at her ap- 
pearance, and protested they would harbor no rebel 
to the See of Rome. They sent her to the nuns, who 
received her in form, with processions and other hon- 
ors. But news being immediately dispatched to Sen- 
suality and Riches, of her friendly reception among the 
nuns, she was again compelled to turn fugitive. She 
next fled to the mendicant friars, who declared they 
could not take charge of ladies. At last she was found 
secreted in the nunnery of the Burrowmoor near Edin- 
burgh, where she had met her mother Poverty and her 
sister Devotion. Sensuality attempts to besiege this 
religious house, but without effect. The pious sisters 
were armed at all points, and kept an irresistible piece 
of artillery, called Domine custodi nosy 

Within quhose ^ schot, thare dar no enemies 
Approche their places for dread of dyntis dour ^ ; 
Boith nicht and day they work lyke besie beis,^ 
For thar defence reddie to stand in stour*: 
And keip sic watchis on their utter tour,* 
That dame Sensuall with siege dar not assaile, 
Nor cum within the schot of thare artaile.*' 



1 whose. 2 hard knocks. ^ busy bees. 

* conflict. 6 outer tower. ^ artillery. 



DOUGLAS, LYNDESAY, AND BARCLAY. 85 

Of Alexander Barclay, whose death occurred six 
years before that of Sir David Lyndesay, there would 
be no need of saying anything were it not that he was 
responsible for a certain allegorical satire whose interest 
now lies chiefly in its title. " The Shyp of Fooles, 
translated oute of Laten, Frenche, and Doch, into 
English tongue, by Alexander Barclay, preste and 
chaplen," was first printed in 1509. It is rather a para- 
phrase than a translation of a satire written by Sebas- 
tian Brandt, an eminent philologist of Basil, about the 
year 1470. From the original and two translations, one 
in French, the other in Latin, Barclay, by making large 
additions of his own, formed a poem of considerable 
length. The design was to ridicule the vices and follies 
of the age, by representing a ship freighted with fools 
of every kind ; one hundred and thirteen several forms 
of folly are entered, with the author himself as their 
leader, or the First Fool, in the character of the Stu- 
dent, or Bookworm. 

That in this ship the chief place I governe, 
By this wide sea with foolis wandering, 
The cause is plaine and easy to discerne ; 
Still am I busy bookes assembling. 
For to have plentie it is a pleasaunt thing, 
In my conceit, to have them ay at hand ; 
But what they meane do I not understande. 

So in likewise of bookes I have a store, 
But few I reade, and fewer understande ; 
I followe not their doctrine, nor their lore, 
It is enough to beare a booke in hande : 
It were too much to be in such a lande, 
For to be bound to loke within the booke. 
I am content on the fayre coveryng to looke. 



Eije JHirror for jHaoiistrateis;, 



o>0^c 



In the last year of Queen Mary's reign, Thomas 
Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, projected a series of poems 
from EngHsh history in which all the illustrious but 
unfortunate characters who had lived since the time of 
the Conquest " were to pass in review before the poet, 
who descends, like Dante, into the infernal regions." 
This work was called "The Mirror for Magistrates, 
wherein may be seen by example of others with howe 
grevous plagues vices are punished, and how frayl and 
unstable worldly prosperity is found even of those 
whom Fortune seemeth most highly to favour." It 
was designed to be a continuation of Lydgate's " Fall 
of Princes," a book which had been translated from 
Boccaccio's Latin work " De Casibus Principum," but 
which had never attained to much popularity chiefly 
because it mentioned no English examples. Sackville, 
the projector of the work, wrote only two of the poems 
in the " Mirror,"— " The Induction," or general intro- 
duction, and " The Complaint of the Duke of Bucking- 
ham." 

The " Induction " is in the form of an allegory, and 
it is with it only that we have to speak in this chapter. 
It opens, not with a May morning and a stroll among 
birds and flowers, but with a winter's night when every- 
thing wears a dreary and deserted aspect ; — - 
86 



THE MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES. 87 

Hawthorn had lost his motley livery, 

The naked twigs were shivering all for cold ; 

And dropping down the tears abundantly, 

Each thing, methought, with weeping eye me told 

The cruel season, bidding me withhold 

Myself within ; for I was gotten out 

Into the fields where as I walked about. 

When lo, the night, with misty mantle spread, 

Gan dark the day, and dim the azure skies. 

As the poet walks, he is reminded of the uncertainties 
of life, and while he ponders, " a piteous wight," all 
dressed in black, appears before him. She tells him 
that her name is Sorrow, and that she dwells among the 
Furies where Pluto holds his throne and Lethe's deadly- 
taste "doth reive remembrance of each thing forepast." 
Sorrow then conducts the poet to the infernal regions. 
In his description of his descent to the grisly lake, our 
author borrows largely from the imagery of Virgil and 
Dante; but his pictures of the allegorical characters 
which sat on the porch of hell are original, and are 
drawn with a master's hand. There he sees Remorse, 
and Dread, and Fell Revenge, Misery, Care, Sleep, the 
cousin of Death, Old Age, and Famine, and War, and 
Death himself. His description of Old Age will serve 
as an example. 

Whoe'er had seen him sobbing how he stood 

Unto himself, and how he would bemoan 

His youth forepast, — as though it wrought him good 

To talk of youth, all were his youth foregone, — 

He would have mused and marvelled much, whereon 

This wretched Age should hfe desire so fain, 

And knows full well life doth but length his pain : 

Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed ; 
Went on three feet, and, sometimes, crept on four ; 
With old lame bones, that rattled by his side ; 



88 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

His scalp all pil'd, and he with eld forelore, 
His wither'd fist still knocking at death's door ; 
Fumbling, and driveling, as he draws his breath ; 
For brief, the shape and messenger of Death. 

Passing by these shadowy inhabitants of the porch, 
the poet, with his guide, Sorrow, is ferried over the 
loathsome lake of Acheron, and comes to — 

The large great kingdoms, and the dreadful reign 
Of Pluto in his throne where he did dwell, 
The wide waste places, and the hugie plaine ; 
The wailings, shrieks, and sundry sorts of pain, 
The sighs, the sobs, the deep and deadly groan, 
Earth, air, and all resounding plaint and moan. 

Thence did we passe the threefold emperie 
To the utmost bounds where Rhadamanthus reigns, 
Where proud folke wail their woful misery ; 
Where dreadful din of thousands dragging chaines, 
And baleful shrieks of ghosts in deadly paines 
Tortured eternally are heard most brim 
Through silent shades of night so dark and dim. 

From hence upon our way we forward passe, 
And through the groves and uncouth paths we go, 
Which lead unto the Cyclop's walls of Brasse : 
And where that maine broad flood for aye doth flow, 
Which parts the gladsome fields from place of woe : 
Whence none shall ever pass to the Elizium plaine. 
Or from Elizium ever turne againe. 

Here pul'd the babes, and here the maids unwed 
With folded hands their sorry chance bewail'd. 
Here wept the guiltless slain, and lovers dead. 
That slew themselves when nothing else avail'd : 
A thousand sorts of sorrows here, that wail'd 
With sighs, and tears, sobs, shrieks, and all yfear, 
That, oh, alas, it was a hell to hear. 



THE MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES. 89 

Here a troop of men, most of them in arms, pass in 
order before the poet and Sorrow. These are they who 
have died untimely deaths, and of whom it is yet uncer- 
tain whether they will be doomed to eternal night or 
rewarded with everlasting bliss. 

Then first came Henry, Duke of Buckingham, 
His cloak of black, all pil'd, and quite forlorne, 
Wringing his hands, and Fortune oft doth blame, 
Which of a duke hath made him now her skorne. . . . 
And supping the tears that all his breast beraynde, 
On cruel Fortune, weeping thus he playnde. 

Here ends the " Induction," and the " Complaint of 
Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham," begins. With 
reference to this remarkable allegory, Warton says : 
" The shadowy inhabitants of hell-gate are conceived 
with the vigor of a creative imagination, and described 
with great force of expression. They are delineated 
with that fulness of proportion, that invention of pictu- 
resque attributes, distinctness, animation, and amplitude 
of which Spenser is commonly supposed to have given 
the first specimens in our language, and which are 
characteristic of his poetry. We may venture to pro- 
nounce that Spenser at least caught his manner of 
designing allegorical personages from this model, which 
so greatly enlarged the former narrow bonds of our 
ideal imagery, as that it may be deemed an original in 
that style of painting." 



EJe purple Islanti* 

An ingenious allegorical poem, interesting chiefly 
for its strange conceits, is " The Purple Island ; or, the 
Isle of Man," written by Phineas Fletcher,^ and pub- 
lished in 1633, 

An isle I fain would sing, an island fair ; 

A place too seldom view'd, yet still in view ; 
Near as ourselves, yet farthest from our care ; 

Which we by leaving find, by seeking lost ; 

A foreign home, a strange, though native coast ; 

Most obvious to all, yet most unknown to most. 

This " isle " is the body of man ; and the poem is an 
allegorical and yet minute and elaborate description of 
the physical and intellectual nature of man. The work 
includes twelve cantos, each of which is represented as 
being sung by a shepherd to the neighboring shepherds 
and shepherdesses, — it being begun in the morning 
" and finished by folding-time in the evening." The 
first five cantos refer to the human body. The muscles, 
bones, arteries, and veins are pictured as hills, dales, 
streams, and rivers, and their various appearances and 
meanderings are described with great minuteness. The 
poet then proceeds in the remaining cantos to speak of 

1 Phineas Fletcher, a brother of the more famous Giles Fletcher, was 
born in 1582. He died in 1650, 

90 



THE PURPLE ISLAND. 91 

the complex operations of the human mind. The king 
of the " Isle of Man " is Intellect, and he has the assist- 
ance of eight counsellors — the five senses, Common 
Sense, Fancy, and Memory. In the twelfth canto the 
battle of Mansoul is described. The Vices attack the 
Human Fortress, and a fierce contest ensues for the 
possession of the human soul. At length an angel 
(none other than King James I. !) appears upon the 
scene and promises victory to the Virtues. 

The following extract is from "The Purple Island": — 

PARTHENIA. 

A bed of lilies flow'r upon her cheek, 

And in the midst was set a circling rose ; 

Whose sweet aspect would force Narcissus seek 

New liveries, and fresher colors choose 

To deck his beauteous head in snowy 'tire ; 

But all in vain : for who can hope t' aspire 

To such a fair, which none attain, but all admire ! 

Her ruby lips lock up from gazing sight 
A troop of pearls, which march in goodly row : 
But when she deigns those precious bones undight, 
Soon heavenly notes from those divisions flow. 
And with rare music charm the ravish'd ears, 
Daunting bold thoughts, but cheering modest fears : 
The spheres so also sing, so only charm the spheres. 

Yet all these stars which deck this beauteous sky 

By force of th' inward sun both shine and move ; 

Thron'd in her heart sits love's high majesty ; 

In highest majesty, the highest love. 

As when a taper shines in glassy frame, 

The sparkling crystal burns in glittering flame, 

So does that brightest love brighten this lovely dame. 



^fje JTacrie (S^ueme, 



" The Faerie Queene," by Edmund Spenser,^ is the 
most famous allegory in the English language. It con- 
sists of six books, of which the first contains the Legend 
of the Knight of the Red Cross ; the second, that of 
Sir Guyon ; the third, of Britomartis ; the fourth, of Cam- 
bel and Triamond ; the fifth, of Artegall ; and the sixth, 
of Sir Calidore. It was originally planned to consist of 
twelve books, but whether the remaining six books were 
ever written is unknown. There is a tradition which 
asserts that through the carelessness of a servant they 
were lost on the passage across the sea from Ireland to 
England. The versification is based upon the ottava 
rinia made so popular in Italian poetry by Tasso and 
Ariosto. Instead of eight lines to a stanza, however, 
there are nine. The first eight lines are iambic pen- 
tameters, and the ninth a hexameter, the stanza thus 
closing with a lingering cadence which adds greatly 
to the melody of the verse. This species of versifica- 
tion is now known as the Spenserian stanza. Since the 
work consists of six poems, each containing a dozen 
long cantos, the impossibility of giving in any brief 
space a complete analysis of the performance will be 
readily understood. Let us, however, point out some 



^ For an account of Spenser's life, see note, page 147. The " Faerie 
Queene" was first published in 1590- 1596. 
92 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 93 

of its beauties and at the same time indicate certain por- 
tions of it that may be found worthy of special study. 

The general plan of the work is partly explained by 
the poet in his dedicatory letter to Sir Walter Raleigh. 

The object of the book, he says, is to fashion a gen- 
tleman, or noble person, in virtuous and gentle discipline 
— in imitation of Arthur, "the image of the brave 
Knight perfected in twelve moral virtues." By the 
Faerie Queene he means, in a general sense. Glory, but 
in a particular sense " the most excellent and glorious 
person of our soveraine, the Queen and her kingdom in 
faerie land." 

" The beginning of my history, if it were to be told 
by an historiographer, should be the twelfth book, 
which is the last, where I devise that the Faerie Queene 
kept her annual feast xii. days ; uppon which xii. sev- 
erall days the occasions of the xii. severall adventures 
hapned, which being undertaken by xii. severall knights, 
are in these xii. bookes severally handled and discoursed. 
The first was this : In the beginning of the feast there 
presented himselfe a tall clownishe younge man, who, 
falling before the Queene of the Faeries desired a boone 
(as the manner then was) which during that feast she 
might not refuse ; which was that hee might have the 
atchievement of any adventure which during that feaste 
should happen. That being granted, he rested himself 
on the floore, unfitte through his rusticity for a better 
place. Soon after entred a faire Ladye in mourning 
weedes, riding on a white asse, with a dwarf behind her 
leading a warlike steed that bore the arms of a knight, and 
his speare in the dwarf's hand. Shee, falling before the 
Queene of the Faeries, complayned that her father and 
mother, an ancient king and queene, had been by an 



94 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

huge dragon many years shut up in a brazen Castle, 
who thence suffred them not to yssew : and therefore 
besought the Faerie Queene to assygne her some one 
of her knights to take on him that exployt. Presently 
that clownish person, upstarting, desired that adven- 
ture : whereat the Queene much wondering, and the 
Lady much gainesaying, yet he earnestly importuned 
his desire. In the end, the Lady told him that unlesse 
that armour which she brought would serve him (that 
is the armour of a Christian man specified by St. Paul, 
V. Ephes.) that he could not succeed in that enterprise : 
which being forthwith put upon him with dew furnitures 
thereunto, he seemed the goodliest man in all that com- 
pany, and was well liked of the Lady. And eftsoones 
taking on him knighthood, and mounting on that strange 
courser, he went forth with her of that adventure : where 
beginneth the first Booke, viz. : 

"A gentle Knight was pricking on the playne," etc. 

The allegorical interpretation of the first Book, 
although seemingly intricate, is not at all difficult. It 
may be briefly summarized as follows : The Red Cross 
Knight is the personification of Holiness clad in the 
armor of the Christian warrior as described by St Paul : 
his loins are girt about with truth ; his feet are shod 
with the preparation of the Gospel of Peace ; he has on 
the breast-plate of righteousness and the helmet of sal- 
vation ; and he carries the shield of faith and the sword 
of the spirit, which is the word of God. Thus armed, 
he goes forth to combat error wherever he may find it, 
and, above all, to win the grace of Gloriana. The lovely 
lady, fair Una, typifies Truth, and her milk-white lamb 
is Innocence. The dwarf, who lags so far behind her, 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 95 

represents the natural physical life so far inferior, and 
ever so far behind, our spiritual body. The trees, 
among which they take refuge from the storm, proba- 
bly typify the different conditions of life, as youth, 
pleasure, sorrow, glory, maturity, old age, etc. While 
contemplating these different conditions, the knight 
wanders into Error's ways and becomes involved in a 
deadly contest with that monster. Archimago, whom 
next they meet, is the Great Deceiver, and in him the 
poet probably meant to typify the Roman Catholic 
Church. His misrepresentation of Truth is the cause 
of a temporary alienation between Holiness and Truth, 
and of all the subsequent mishaps that occur to the 
knight. Sansfoy is, as his name indicates, the personifi- 
cation of Infidelity. Duessa, the two-faced deceiver, is 
the Catholic Church typified as a woman clothed in 
scarlet, this figure being suggested by a passage in the 
Apocalypse. Fradubio is the doubter who hesitates be- 
tween the corrupt Romish Church and the purer, but 
by no means true, philosophy of the ancients, which is 
here represented by Frselissa. Neither Fradubio nor 
Fraelissa can become useful, living members of the body 
social until they have been " bathed in a living well," 
in that living water of which Christ spoke to the woman 
of Samaria. The lion which espouses the cause of 
Truth and follows her so bravely is Reason. The blind 
woman and her daughter who at first refuse to listen 
to the words of Truth are Ignorance and Superstition. 
When the church-robber brings his stolen offerings to 
Superstition, she is prevented from receiving them be- 
cause she has Truth and Reason with her. Reason is 
finally slain by Lawlessness, — Sansloy, — who also 
fights with and overcomes Archimago, whom he has 



96 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

mistaken for Holiness. Holiness is conducted by 
Duessa to the House of Pride, where he fights with Joy- 
lessness, — Sansjoy, — and, although victor in the end, 
is wounded by him. Joylessness would have ceased to 
exist had not the "diabolical faith," represented by 
Duessa, obtained from hell new lease of life for him. 
The fountain at which the knight drinks feebleness and 
faintness of heart signifies Weariness-in-well-doing. 
The giant who takes him captive is Worldly Pleasure. 
Then Arthur, the perfection of all virtues, comes to the 
rescue, slays the giant, wounds the many-headed beast 
upon which Duessa sits and which represents the ritual 
and traditions of Romanism, and liberates Holiness from 
the delusions and snares into which he has been led by 
Despair. Afterwards, Truth brings the Red Cross 
Knight to the house of Holiness, where Faith, Hope, 
and Charity dwell with their heavenly mother, and 
there, through the aid of Faith, he is enabled to see the 
vision of the eternal city. Finally, having fought the 
good fight, and having obtained the victory over Sin, he 
becomes thenceforward the legal champion and defender 
of Truth, thereby meriting and receiving the gracious 
approval of Gloriana. 

" The second book, ' Of Temperance,' pursues the 
subject, and represents the internal conquests of self- 
mastery, the conquests of a man over his passions, his 
violence, his covetousness, his ambition, his despair, 
his sensuality. Sir Guyon, after conquering many foes 
of goodness, is the destroyer of the most perilous of 
them all, Acrasia, licentiousness, and her ensnaring 
Bower of Bliss. But after this, the thread at once of 
story and allegory, slender at the best, is often entirely 
lost. The third book, the ' Legend of Chastity,' is a 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 97 

repetition of the ideas of the latter part of the second, 
with a heroine, Britomart, in place of the Knight, and 
with a special glorification of the high-flown and roman- 
tic sentiments about purity, which were the poetic 
creed of the courtiers of Elizabeth, in flagrant and 
sometimes in tragic contrast to their practical conduct 
of life. The loose and ill-compacted nature of the plan 
"becomes still more evident in the second instalment of 
the work. Even the special note of each particular 
virtue becomes more faint and indistinct. The one law 
to which the poet feels bound is to have twelve cantos 
in each book ; and to do this he is sometimes driven to 
what in later times has been called padding. One of 
the cantos of the third book is a genealogy of British 
kings from Geoffrey of Monmouth ; one of the can- 
tos of the 'Legend of Friendship' is made up of an 
episode, describing the marriage of the Thames and 
the Medway, with an elaborate catalogue of the English 
and Irish rivers, and the names of the sea-nymphs. In 
truth, he had exhausted his proper allegory, or he got 
tired of it. His poem became an elastic framework, 
into which he could fit whatever interested him and 
tempted him to composition. The gravity of the first 
books disappears. He passes into satire and caricature. 
We meet with Braggadochio and Trompart, with the 
discomfiture of Malecasta, with the conjugal troubles of 
Malbecco and Helenore, with the imitation from Ariosto 
of the Squire of Dames. He puts into verse a poetical 
physiology of the human body ; he translates Lucretius, 
and speculates on the origin of human souls ; he specu- 
lates, too, on social justice, and composes an argumenta- 
tive refutation of the Anabaptist theories of right and 
equality among men. The poem is really a collection of 



98 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

separate tales and allegories, as much as the 'Arabian 
Nights,' or, as its counterpart and rival of our own 
century, the 'Idylls of the King.' As a whole it is 
confusing : but we need not treat it as a whole. Its 
continued interest soon breaks down. But it is prob- 
ably best that Spenser gave his mind the vague free- 
dom which suited it, and that he did not make efforts 
to tie himself down to his pre-arranged but too ambi- 
tious plan. We can hardly lose our way in it, for there 
is no way to lose. It is a wilderness in which we are 
left to wander. But there may be interest and pleasure 
in a wilderness, if we are prepared for the wandering." ^ 
" If you love poetry well enough to enjoy it for its 
own sake," says Leigh Hunt, "let no evil reports of his 
allegory deter you from an acquaintance with Spenser, 
for great will be your loss. His allegory itself is but 
one part allegory and nine parts beauty and enjoyment ; 
sometimes an excess of flesh and blood. ... His whole- 
sale poetical belief, mixing up all creeds and mytholo- 
gies, but with less violence, resembles that of Dante and 
Boccaccio. ... His versification is almost perpetual 
honey. He is not so great a poet as Shakespeare or 
Dante ; he has less imagination though more fancy than 
Milton. . . . He has had more idolatry and imitation 
from his brethren than all the rest put together. The 
old undramatic poets, Drayton, Browne, Drummond, 
Giles, and Phineas Fletcher, were as full of him as the 
dramatic were of Shakespeare. Milton studied and used 
him, calling him 'sage and serious Spenser' ; and adding 
that he 'dared be known to think him a better teacher 
than Scotus and Aquinas.' Cowley said he became a 
poet by reading him. Dryden claimed him for a 



1 R. W. Church. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 99 

master. Pope said he read him with as much pleasure 
when he was old as when he was young. Collins and 
Gray loved him ; Thomson, Shenstone, and a host of in- 
ferior writers expressly imitated him ; Burns, Byron, 
Shelley, and Keats made use of his stanza ; Coleridge 
eulogized him." 

" No modern is more like Homer," says M. Taine, 
" Like Homer, he is always simple and clear ; he makes 
no leaps, he omits no argument, he robs no word of its 
primitive and ordinary meaning, he preserves the natural 
sequence of ideas. Like Homer again, he is redundant, 
ingenuous, even childish. He says everything, he puts 
down reflections which we have made beforehand ; he 
repeats without limit his grand ornamental epithets. 
We can see that he beholds objects in a beautiful 
uniform light, with infinite detail ; that he wishes to 
show all this detail, never fearing to see his happy dream 
change or disappear ; that he traces its outline with a 
regular movement, never hurrying or slackening. He 
is even a little prolix, too unmindful of the public, too 
ready to lose himself and dream about the things he 
beholds. His thought expands in vast, repeated com- 
parisons, like those of the old Ionic bard." 

"There is," says Hazlitt, "an originality, richness, 
and variety in his allegorical personages and fictions, 
which almost vie with the splendor of ancient mythol- 
ogy. If Ariosto transports us into the regions of ro- 
mance, Spenser's poetry is all fairyland. In Ariosto we 
walk upon the ground, in a company gay, fantastic, 
and adventurous enough. In Spenser we wander in 
another world among ideal beings. The poet takes and 
lays us in the lap of a lovelier nature, by the sound of 
softer streams, among greener hills and fairer valleys." 



100 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

EXTRACTS FROM "THE FAERIE OUEENE." 

FIRST ADVENTURE OF THE RED CROSS KNIGHT. 
Book I. — Canto I. 

The patron of true Holinesse 

Foule Errour doth defeate ; 
Hypocrisie, him to entrappe, 

Doth to his home entreate.^ 

A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine, 
Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde, 
Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine. 
The cruel markes of many a bloody fielde ; 
Yet armes till that time did he never wield : 
His angry steede did chide ^ his foaming bitt, 
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield : 
Full iolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt, 
As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt. 

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore, 
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, 
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore 
And dead, as living, ever him ador'd : 
Upon his shield the like was also scor'd. 
For soveraine^ hope, which in his helpe he had. 
Right, faithfull, true he was in deede and word ; 
But of his cheere, did seeme too solemne sad ; 
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad. 

Upon a great adventure he was bond, 

That greatest Gloriana to him gave, 

(That greatest glorious Oueene of Faery lond) 



^ For Notes, sec page 147, and after. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 101 

To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have, 
Which of all earthly things he most did crave. 
And ever as he rode, his hart did earne 
To prove his puissance in battell brave 
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne ; 
Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stearne. 

A lovely laidie rode him faire beside, 
Upon a lowly asse more white than snow ; 
Yet she much whiter ; but the same did hide 
Under a vele, that wimpled was full low ; 
And over all a blacke stole shee did throw, 
As one that inly mourned ; so was she sad, 
And heavie sate upon her palfrey slow ; 
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had ; 
And by her in a line a milke-white lambe she lad. 

So pure and innocent, as that same lambe. 
She was in life and every vertuous lore. 
And by descent from royall lynage came 
Of ancient kinges and queenes, that had of yore 
Their scepters stretcht from east to westerne shore. 
And all the world in their subjection held ; 
Till that infernal feend with foule uprore 
Forwasted all their land, and them expeld ; 
Whom to avenge, she had this knight from far compeld. 

Behind her farre away a dwarfe did lag, 

That lasie seemd, in being ever last. 

Or wearied with bearing of her bag 

Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past, 

The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast, 

And angry love an hideous storme of raine 



102 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Did poure into his lemans lap* so fast, 
That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain ; 
And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were fain. 

Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand, 
A shadie grove not farr away they spide. 
That promist ayde the tempest to withstand ; 
Whose loftie trees, yclad with sommers pride 
Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide, 
Not perceable with power of any starr ; 
And all within were pathes and alleles wide, 
With footing worne and leading inward farr : 
Faire harbour that them seems ; so in they entred ar. 

And'foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led, 
loying to heare the birdes sweete harmony. 
Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred, 
Seemed in their song to scorne the cruell sky. 
Much can they praise the trees ^ so straight and hy, 
The sayling pine ; the cedar proud and tall ; 
The vine-propp elme ; the poplar never dry ; 
The builder oake, sole king of forrests all ; 
The aspine good for staves ; the cypresse funerall ;^ 

The laurell " meed of mightie conquerours 
And poets sage ; the firre that weepeth still ; 
The willow,^ worne of forlorne paramours ; 
The eugh, obedient to the benders will ; 
The birch for shaftes ; the sallow for the mill ; 
The mirrhe sweete-bleeding in the bitter wound ; 
The warlike beech ; the ash for nothing ill ; 
The fruitful olive ; and the platane^ round ; 
The carver holme ; the maple, seldom inward sound. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 103 

Led with delight, they thus beguile the way, 
Untill the blustring storme is overblowne ; 
When, weening to returne, whence they did stray, 
They cannot finde that path, which first was showne, 
But wander too and fro in waies unknowne, 
Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene, 
That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne ; 
So many paths, so many turnings scene, 
That which of them to take in diverse doubt they been. 

At last resolving forward still to fare, 
Till that some end they finde, or in or out, 
That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare. 
And like to lead the labyrinth about ; 
Which when by tract they hunted had throughout, 
At length it brought them to a hollowe cave 
Amid the thickest woods. The champion stout 
Eftsoones dismounted from his courser brave. 
And to the dwarfe awhile his needlesse spere he gave. 

"Be well aware," quoth then that ladie milde, 
" Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash provoke : 
The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde, 
Breedes dreadfull doubts : oft fire is without smoke, 
And perill without show ; therefore your stroke. 
Sir Knight, with-hold, till further tryall made." 
"Ah, Ladie," sayd he, "shame were to revoke 
The forward footing for an hidden shade : 
Vertue gives her selfe light through darknesse for to wade." 

"Yea, but," quoth she, "the perill of this place 
I better wot then you : Though nowe too late 
To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace, 



104 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Yet wisedome warnes, whilest foot is in the gate, 
To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. 
This is the Wandring Wood, this Errours Den, 
A monster vile, whom God and man does hate : 
Therefore I read beware." " Fly, fly," quoth then 
The fearefull dwarfe ; " this is no place for living men." 

But, full of fire and greedy hardiment,!'' 
The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide ; 
But forth unto the darksome hole he went, 
And looked in : his glistring armor made 
A litle glooming light, much like a shade ; 
By which he saw the ugly monster plaine, 
Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide. 
But th' other halfe did womans shape retaine. 
Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine. 

And, as she lay upon the durtie ground. 
Her huge long taile her den all overspread. 
Yet was in knots and many boughtes upwound, 
Pointed with mortall sting : of her there bred 
• A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed, 
Sucking upon her poisnous dugs ; each one 
Of sundrie shapes, yet all ill-favored : 
Soone as that uncouth light upon them shone, 
Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone. 

Their dam upstart out of her den effraide, 

And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile 

About her cursed head ; whose folds displaid 

Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile.i^ 

She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle, 

Armed to point, sought backe to turne againe ; 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 105 

For light she hated as the deadly bale, 
Ay wont in desert darknes to remaine, 
Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plaine. 

Which when the valiant Elfe perceiv'd, he lept 
As lyon fierce upon the flying pray, 
And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept 
From turning backe, and forced her to stay : 
Therewith enraged she loudly gan to bray, 
And turning fierce her speckled taile advaunst, 
Threatning her angrie sting, him to dismay ; 
Who, nought aghast, his mightie hand enhaunst ; 
The stroke down from her head unto her shoulder glaunst. 

Much daunted with that dint her sence was dazd ; 
Yet kindling rage her selfe she gathered round, 
And all attonce her beastly bodie raizd 
With doubled forces high above the ground : 
Tho, wrapping up her wreathed sterne arownd, 
Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine 
All suddenly about his body wound. 
That hand or foot to stirr he strove in vaine. 
God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine : 

His lady, sad to see his sore constraint, 
Cride out, " Now, now. Sir Knight, shew what ye bee ; 
Add faith unto your force, and be not faint ; 
Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee." 
That when he heard, in great perplexitie. 
His gall did grate for griefe and high disdaine ; 
And, knitting all his force, got one hand free. 
Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine. 
That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine. 



106 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Therewith she spewed out of her filthie maw 
A floud of poyson horrible and blacke, 
Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets raw, 
Which stunk so vildly, that it forst him slacke 
His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe : 
Her vomit full of bookes and papers was, 
With loathly frog and toades, which eyes did lacke, 
And creeping sought way in the weedy gras : 
?Ier filthie parbreake all the place defiled has. 

As when old father Nilus gins to swell 
With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale, 
His fattie waves doe fertile slime outwell. 
And overflow each plaine and lowly dale : 
But, when his later spring gins to avale, 
Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherin there breed 
Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly male 
And partly femall, of his fruitful seed ; 
Such ugly monstrous shapes elswhere may no man reed. 

The same so sore annoyed has the knight, 
That, wel-nigh choked with the deadly stinke. 
His forces faile, ne can no lenger fight. 
Whose corage when the feend perceivd to shrinke, 
She poured forth out of her hellish sinke 
Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small, 
(Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke,) 
Which swarming all about his legs did crall. 
And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all. 

As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide. 
When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west, 
High on a hill, his flocke to vewen wide. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 107 

Markes which doe byte their hasty supper best, 
A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him molest, 
All striving to infixe their feeble stinges, 
That from their noyance he no where can rest ; 
But with his clownish hands their tender wings 
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings. 

Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame 
Then of the certeine perill he stood in, 
Halfe furious unto his foe he came, 
Resolvd in minde all suddenly to win. 
Or soone to lose, before he once would lin ; 
And stroke at her with more then manly force, 
That from her body, full of filthie sin, 
He raft ^^ her hatefull heade without remorse : 
A streame of cole-black blood forth gushed from her 
corse. 

Her scattred brood, soone as their parent deare 
They saw so rudely falling to the ground, 
Groning full deadly all with troublous feare 
Gathred themselves about her body round. 
Weening their wonted entrance to have found 
At her wide mouth ; but, being there withstood, 
They flocked all about her bleeding wound, 
And sucked up their dying mothers bloud ; 
Making her death their life, and eke her hurt their good. 

His lady seeing all, that chaunst, from farre, 

Approcht in hast to greet his victorie ; 

And saide, " Faire knight, borne under happie starre, 

Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye ; 

Well worthie be you of that armory. 

Wherein ye have great glory wonne this day, 



108 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And proov'd your strength on a strong enimie ; 
Your first adventure : many such I pray, 
And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may ! " 

Then mounted he upon his steede againe, 
And with the lady backward sought to wend : ^^ 
That path he kept, which beaten was most plaine, 
Ne ever would to any by-way bend ; 
But still did follow one unto the end, 
The which at last out of the wood them brought. 
So forward on his way (with God to frend) 
He passed forth, and new adventure sought : 
Long way he travelled, before he heard of ought. 

At length they chaunst to meet upon the way 
An aged sire, in long blacke weedes yclad. 
His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray, 
And by his belt his booke he hanging had ; 
Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad ; 
And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, 
Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad ; 
And all the way he prayed, as he went. 
And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent. 

He faire the knight saluted, louting low. 
Who faire him quited, as that courteous was ; 
And after asked him, if he did know 
Of strange adventures, which abroad did pas. 
"Ah ! my dear sonne," quoth he, how should, alas ! 
Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell. 
Bidding ^^ his beades all day for his trespas, 
Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell ? 
With holy father sits not with such things to mell 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 109 

" But if of daunger, which hereby doth dwell, 
And homebredd evil ye desire to heare, 
Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell, 
That wasteth all this countrie farre and neare." 
" Of such," saide he, " I chiefly doe inquere ; 
And shall thee well rewarde to shew the place. 
In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare : 
For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace, 
That such a cursed creature lives so long a space." 

"Far hence," quoth he, "in wastfull wildernesse 
His dwelling is, by which no living wight 
May ever passe, but thorough ^^ great distressed' 
"Now," saide the ladie, "draweth toward night; 
And well I wote, that of your later fight 
Ye all forwearied be ; for what so strong, 
But, wanting rest, will also want of might ? 
The sunne, that measures heaven all day long. 
At night doth baite his steedes the ocean waves emong. 

"Then with the sunne take, sir, your timely rest. 
And with new day new worke at once begin : 
Untroubled night, they say, gives counsell best." 
" Right well. Sir Knight, ye have advised bin," 
Quoth then that aged man ; " the way to win 
Is wisely to advise. Now day is spent : 
Therefore with me ye may take up your in 
For this same night." The knight was well content; 
So with that godly father to his home they went. 

A little lowly hermitage it was, 
Downe in a dale, hard by a forest's side, 
Far from resort of people, that did pas 



110 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

In traveill to and froe : a little wyde ^^ 
There was an holy chappell edifyde, 
Wherein the hermite dewly wont to say 
His holy things each morne and eventyde : 
Thereby a christall streame did gently play, 
Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway. 

Arrived there, the little house they fill, 
Ne looke for entertainement, where none was ; 
Rest is their feast, and all thinges at their will : 
The noblest mind the best contentment has. 
With faire discourse the evening so they pas ; 
For that olde man of pleasing wordes had store. 
And well could file his tongue, as smooth as glas : 
He told of saintes and popes, and evermore 
He strowd an Ave-Mary after and before. 

The drouping night thus creepeth on them fast ; 

And the sad humor loading their eye-liddes. 

As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast 

Sweet slombering deaw, the which to sleep them 

biddes. 
Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes : 
Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes, 
He to his studie goes ; and there amiddes 
His magick bookes, and artes of sundrie kindes. 
He seeks out mighty charmes to trouble sleepy minds. 

Then choosing out a few words most horrible, 
(Let none them read ! ) thereof did verses frame : 
With which, and other spelles like terrible, 
He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly dame i" ; 
And cursed Heven ; and spake reprochful shame 
Of highest God, the Lord of life and light. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. Ill 

A bold bad man ! that dar'd to call by name 
Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead night ; 
At which Cocy tus quakes, and Styx ^^ is put to flight. 



UNA AND THE LION. 

Book I. — Canto III. 

Nought is there under heav'ns wide hollownesse, 
That moves more deare compassion of mind, 
Then beautie brought t' unworthie wretchednesse 
Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind. 
I, whether lately through her brightnes blynd, 
Or through alleageance, and fast fealty, 
Which I do owe unto all womankynd, 
Feele my hart perst with so great agony, 
When such I see, that all for pitty I could dy. 

• And now it is empassioned so deepe. 
For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing. 
That my frayle eies these lines with teares do steepe. 
To thinke how she through guyleful handeling, 
Though true as touch, though daughter of a king, 
Though faire as ever living wight was fayre, 
Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting, 
Is from her knight divorced ^ in despayre, 

And her dew loves deryv'd to that vile witches shayre. 

Yet she, most faithfull ladie, all this while 
Forsaken, wofull, solitarie mayd. 
Far from all peoples preace, as in exile. 
In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd. 
To seeke her knight ; who, subtily betrayd 



112 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Through that late vision which th' enchaunter wrought, 
Had her abandond ; she of nought afrayd, 
Through woods and wastnes wide him daily sought, 
Yet wished tydings none of him unto her brought. 

One day, nigh wearie of the yrksome way. 
From her unhastie beast she did alight ; 
And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay 
In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight ; 
From her fayre head her fillet she undight, 
And layd her stole aside : Her angels face. 
As the great eye of heaven,^ shyned bright. 
And made a sunshine in the shady place ; 
Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace. 

It fortuned, out of the thickest wood 
A ramping lyon rushed suddeinly. 
Hunting full greedy after salvage blood 
Soone as the royall virgin he did spy, 
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, 
To have attonce devourd her tender corse ; 
But to the pray when as he drew more ny, 
His bloody rage as waged with remorse, 
And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse. 

Instead thereof, he kist her wearie feet. 
And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong; 
As he her wronged innocence did weet. 
O how can beautie maister the most strong. 
And simple truth subdue avenging wrong ! 
Whose yielded pryde and proud submission. 
Still dreading death, when she had marked long, 
Her hart ganmelt in great compassion ; 
And drizling teares did shed for pure affection. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 113 

" The lyon, lord of everie beast in field," 
Quoth she, " his princely puissance doth abate, 
And mightie proud to humble weake does yield, 
Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late 
Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate : — 
But he, my lyon, and my noble lord, 
How does he find in cruell hart to hate 
Her, that him lov'd, and ever most adord 
As the god of my life? why hath he me abhord ?" 

Redounding teares did choke th' end of her plaint, 
Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood ; 
And, sad to see her sorrowful! constraint, 
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood ; 
With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood. 
At last, in close hart shutting up her payne, 
Arose the virgin, borne of heavenly brood, 
And to her snowy palfrey got agayne. 
To seeke her strayed champion if she might attayne. 

The lyon would not leave her desolate, 
But with her went along, as a strong gard 
Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate 
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard ; 
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward ; 
And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent, 
With humble service to her will prepard : 
From her fayre eyes he took commandement. 
And ever by her lookes conceived her intent. 



114 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

THE PROCESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 

Book I. — Canto IV. 

Suddein upriseth from her stately place 
The roiall dame,^ and for her coche doth call : 
All hurtlen forth ; and she, with prmcely pace, 
As faire Aurora, in her purple pall, 
Out of the east the dawning day doth call, 
So forth she comes ; her brightnes brode doth blaze. 
The heapes of people, thronging in the hall, 
Doe ride each other, upon her to gaze : 
Her glorious glitter and light doth all mens eies amaze. 

So forth she comes, and to her coche does clyme, 
Adorned all with gold and girlonds gay. 
That seemd as fresh as Flora in her prime ; 
And strove to match, in roiall rich array. 
Great lunoes golden chayre^; the which, they say, 
The gods stand gazing on, when she does ride 
To loves high hous through heavens bras-paved way, 
Drawne of fayre pecocks, that excell in pride, 
And full of Argus eyes their tayles dispredden wide. 

But this was drawne of six unequall beasts. 
On which her six sage counsellours did ryde, 
Taught to obey their bestiall beheasts. 
With like conditions to their kindes applyde ; 
Of which the first, that all the rest did guyde, 
Was sluggish Idlenesse, the nourse of Sin; 
Upon a slouthful asse he chose to ryde, 
Arayd in habit blacke, and amis thin; 
Like to an holy monck, the service to begin. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 115 

And in his hand his portesse still he bare, 
That much was worne, but therein little redd ; 
For of devotion he had little care, 
Still drownd in sleepe, and most of his daies dedd: 
Scarse could he once uphold his heavie hedd, 
To looken whether it were night or day. 
May seeme the wayne was very evil ledd, 
When such an one had guiding of the way, 
That knew not, whether right he went, or else astray. 

From worldly cares himselfe he did esloyne, 
And greatly shunned manly exercise; 
From every worke he chalenged essoyne, 
For contemplation sake: yet otherwise 
His life he led in lawlesse riotise ; 
By which he grew to grievous malady : 
For in his lustlesse limbs, through evill guise, 
A shaking fever raignd continually : 
Such one was Idlenesse, first of this company. 

And by his side rode loathsome Gluttony, 
Deformed creature, on a filthie swyne; 
His belly was upblowne with luxury. 
And eke with fatnesse swollen were his eyne; 
And like a crane his neck was long and fyne. 
With which he swallowed up excessive feast. 
For want whereof poore people oft did pyne : 
And all the way, most like a brutish beast. 
He spued up his gorge, that all did him deteast. 

In greene vine leaves he was right fitly clad ; 
For other clothes he could not wear for heate: 
And on his head an yvie girland had. 



116 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

From under which fast trickled downe the sweat : 
Still as he rode, he somewhat still did eat, 
And in his hande did beare a bouzing can, 
Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat 
His drunken corse he scarse upholden can: 
In shape and life more like a monster than a man. 

Unfit he was for any worldly thing. 
And eke unhable once to stirre or go; 
Not meete to be of counsell to a king, 
Whose mind in meate and drinke was drowned so, 
That from his friend he seeldome knew his fo : 
Full of diseases was his carcas blew, 
And a dry dropsie through his flesh did flow. 
Which by misdiet daily greater grew : 
Such one was Gluttony, second of that crew. 

And next to him rode lustfull Lechery 
Upon a bearded goat, whose rugged heare, 
And whally eies, (the sign of gelosy,) 
Was like the person selfe, whom he did beare : 
Who rough, and blacke, and filthy, did appeare; 
Unseemly man to please fair ladies eye : 
Yet he of ladies oft was loved deare, 
When fairer faces were bid standen by : 
O who does know the bent of womens fantasy! 

In a greene gown he clothed was full faire, 
Which underneath did hide his filthinesse; 
And in his hand a burning hart he bare, 
Full of vaine follies and new-fanglenesse:^ 
For he was false, and fraught with ficklenesse ; 
And learned had to love with secret lookes ; 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 117 

And well could daunce ; and sing with ruefulnesse ; 
And fortunes tell ; and read in loving bookes : 
And thousand other waies, to bait his fleshly hookas. 

And greedy Avarice by him did ride, 
Upon a camell loaden all with goldj 
Two iron coffers hong on either side, 
With precious metall full as they might hold; 
And in his lap an heap of coine he told ; 
For of his wicked pelf his god he made, 
And unto hell himselfe for money sold; 
Accursed usury was all his trade ; 
And right and wrong ylike in equall ballaunce waide. 

His life was nigh unto deaths dore yplaste ; 
And thred-bare cote, and cobled shoes, hee ware ; 
Ne scarse good morsell all his life did taste ; 
But both from backe and belly still did spare. 
To fill his bags, and richesse to compare ; 
Yet childe ne kinsman living had he none 
To leave them to ; but thorough daily care 
To get, and nightly feare to lose his owne. 
He led a wretched life, unto himselfe unknowne. 

Most wretched wight, whom nothing might suffise ; 
Whose greedy lust did lacke in greatest store ; 
Whose need had end, but no end covetise ; 
Whose welth was want ; whose plenty made him pore ; 
Who had enough, yett wished ever more ; 
A vile disease ; and eke in foote and hand 
A grievous gout tormented him full sore ; 
That well he could not touch, nor goe, nor stand : 
Such one was Avarice, the fourth of this faire band ! 



118 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And next to him malicious Envy rode 
Upon a ravenous wolfe, and still did chaw 
Between his cankred teeth a venemous tode, 
That all the poison ran about his chaw ; 
But inwardly he chawed his owne maw 
At neibors welth, that made him ever sad ; 
For death it was, when any good he saw ; 
And wept, that cause of weeping none he had ; 
But, when he heard of harme, he wexed wondrous glad. 

All in a kirtle of discolourd say 
He clothed was, ypaynted full of eies ; 
And in his bosome secretly there lay 
An hatefull snake, the which his taile uptyes 
In many folds, and mortall sting implyes : 
Still as he rode, he gnasht his teeth to see 
Those heapes of gold with griple Covetyse, 
And grudged at the great felicitee 
Of proud Lucifera, and his owne companee. 

He hated all good workes and vertuous deeds, 
And him no lesse, that any like did use ; 
And, who with gratious bread the hungry feeds, 
His almes for want of faith he doth accuse : 
So every good to bad he doth abuse : 
And eke the verse of famous poets witt 
He does backebite, and spightfull poison spues 
From leprous mouth on all that ever writt : 
Such one vile Envy was, that fifte in row did sitt. 

And him beside rides fierce revenging Wrath, 

Upon a lion, loth for to be led ; 

And in his hand a burning brond he hath, 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 119 

The which he brandisheth about his hed : 
His eies did hurle forth sparcles fiery red. 
And stared sterne on all that him beheld ; 
As ashes pale of hew, and seeming ded ; 
And on his dagger still his hand he held, 
Trembling through hasty rage, when choler in him sweld. 

His rufifin raiment all was staind with blood 
Which he had spilt, and all to rags yrent ; 
Through unadvized rashnes woxen wood ; 
For of his hands he had no governement, 
Ne car'd for blood in his avengement : 
But, when the furious fitt was overpast, 
His cruell facts he often would repent ; 
Yet, wilfull man, he never would forecast. 
How many mischieves should ensue his heedlesse hast. 

Full many mischiefes follow cruell Wrath ; 
Abhorred Bloodshed, and tumultuous Strife, 
Unmanly Murder, and unthrifty Scath, 
Bitter Despight with Rancours rusty knife ; 
And fretting Griefe, the enemy of life : 
All these, and many evils moe haunt Ire, 
The swelling Splene, and Frenzy raging rife, 
The shaking Palsey, and St. Fraunces fire:* 
Such one was Wrath, the last of this ungodly tire. 

And, after all, upon the wagon beame 
Rode Sathan with a smarting whip in hand. 
With which he forward lasht the laesy teme, 
So oft as Slowth still in the mire did stand. 
Huge routs of people did about them band, 
Showting for joy ; and still before their way 



120 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

A foggy mist had covered all the land ; 
And, underneath their feet, all scattered lay 
Dead sculls and bones of men whose life had gone astray. 

So forth they marchen in this goodly sort, 
To take the solace of the open aire, 
And in fresh flowring fields themselves to sport : 
Emongst the rest rode that false lady faire, 
The foule Duessa, next unto the chaire 
Of proud Lucifer', as one of the traine : 
But that good knight would not so nigh repaire. 
Him selfe estraunging from their ioyaunce vaine. 
Whose fellowship seemd far unfitt for warlike swaine. 



DUESSA'S DESCENT INTO HELL. 

Book I. — Canto V. 

Thence turning backe in silence soft they stole, 
And brought the heavy corse with easy pace 
To yawning gulfe of deep Avernus ^ hole : 
By that same hole an entraunce, darke and bace, 
With smoake and sulphur hiding all the place, 
Descends to hell : there creature never past. 
That backe retourned without heavenly grace ; 
But dreadfull furies, which their chaines have brast. 
And damned sprights sent forth to make ill men aghast. 

By that same way the direfull dames doe drive 
Their mournefull charett, fild with rusty blood, 
And downe to Plutoes house are come bilive : 
Which passing through, on every side them stood 
The trembling ghosts with sad amazed mood, 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 121 

Chattring their iron teeth, and staring wide 
With stonie eies ; and all the hellish brood 
Of feends infernall flockt on every side, 
To gaze on erthly wight, that with the Night durst ride. 

They pas the bitter waves of Acheron, 
Where many soules sit wailing woefully ; 
And come to fiery flood of Phlegeton,^ 
Whereas the damned ghostes in torments fry, 
And with sharp shrilling shriekes doe bootlesse cry, 
Cursing high love, the which them thither sent 
The hous of endlesse Paine is built thereby, 
In which ten thousand sorts of punishment 
The cursed creatures doe eternally torment. 

Before the threshold dreadfull Cerberus 
His three deformed heads did lay along, 
Curled with thousand adders venomous ; 
And lilled forth his bloody flaming tong : 
At them he gan to reare his bristles strong, 
And felly gnarre, untill Dayes enemy 
Did him appease ; then downe his taile he hong, 
And suffered them to passen quietly : 
For she in hell and heaven had power equally. 

There was Ixion turned on a wheele, 
For daring tempt the queene of heaven to sin ; 
And Sisyphus an huge round stone did reele 
Against an hill, ne might from labour lin ; 
There thirsty Tantalus hong by the chin ; 
And Tityus fed a vultur on his maw ; 
Typhoeus ioynts were stretched on a gin ; 
Theseus condemnd to endlesse slouth by law ; 
And fifty sisters water in leke vessels draw. 



122 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

They, all beholding worldly wights in place, 
Leave off their worke, unmindfull of their smart. 
To gaze on them ; who forth by them doe pace, 
Till they be come unto the furthest part ; 
Where was a cave ywrought by wondrous art, 
Deepe, darke, uneasy, dolefull, comfortlesse, 
In which sad Aesculapius far apart 
Emprisond was in chaines remedilesse ; 
For that Hippolytus rent corse he did redresse. 

Hippolytus ^ a iolly huntsman was. 
That wont in charett chace the foming bore : 
He all his peeres in beauty did surpas : 
But ladies love, as losse of time, forbore : 
His wanton stepdame loved him the more ; 
But, when she saw her offred sweets refusd, 
Her love she turned to hate, and him before 
His father fierce of treason false accusd. 
And with her gealous termes his open eares abusd ; 

Who, all in rage, his sea-god syre besought 
Some cursed vengeaunce on his sonne to cast : 
From surging gulf two monsters streight were brought 
With dread whereof his chacing steedes aghast 
Both charett swifte and huntsman overcast. 
His goodly corps, on ragged cliffs yrent. 
Was quite dismembred, and his members chast 
Scattered on every mountaine as he went, 
That of Hippolytus was lefte no moniment. 

His cruell stepdame, seeing what was donne. 
Her wicked dales with wretched knife did end. 
In death avowing th' innocence of her sonne. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 123 

Which hearing, his rash syre began to rend 
His heare, and hasty tong that did offend : 
Tho, gathering up the reliques of his smart, 
By Dianes meanes who was Hippolyts frend, 
Them brought to Aesculape, that by his art 
Did heale them all againe, and ioyned every part. 

Such wondrous science in mans witt to rain 
When love avizd, that could the dead revive, 
And fates expired could renew again, 
Of endlesse life he might him not deprive ; 
But unto hell did thrust him downe alive. 
With flashing thunderbolt ywounded sore ; 
Where, long remaining, he did alwaies strive 
Himselfe with salves to health for to restore. 
And slake the heavenly fire that raged evermore. 

There auncient Night arriving, did alight 
From her nigh-weary wayne, and in her armes 
To Aesculapius brought the wounded knight : 
Whom having softly disaraid of armes, 
Tho gan to him discover all his harmes, 
Beseeching him with prayer, and with praise. 
If either salves, or oyles, or herbes, or charmes, 
A fordonne wight from dore of death mote raise. 
He would at her request prolong her nephews dales. 

"Ah dame," quoth he, "thou temptest me in vaine 

To dare the thing, which daily yet I rew; 

And the old cause of my continued paine 

With like attempt to like end to renew. 

Is not enough, that, thrust from heaven dew, 

Here endlesse penaunce for one fault I pay ; 



124 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

But that redoubled crime with vengeaunce new 
Thou biddest me to eeke ? can Night defray 
The wrath of thundring love, that rules both Night and 
Day?" 

"Not so," quoth she ; "but, sith that heavens king 
From hope of heaven hath thee excluded quight, 
Why fearest thou, that canst not hope for thing ; 
And fearest not that more thee hurten might, 
Now in the powre of everlasting Night ? 
Goe to then, O thou far renowmed sonne 
Of great Apollo, shew thy famous might 
In medicine, that els hath to thee wonne 
Great pains, and greater praise, both never to be donne." 

Her words prevaild ; and then the learned leach 
His cunning hand gan to his wounds to lay, 
And all things els the which his art did teach ; 
Which having scene, from thence arose away 
The mother of dredd Darknesse, and let stay 
Aveugles sonne* there in the leaches cure; 
And, backe retourning, took her wonted way 
To ronne her timely race, whilst Phoebus pure 
In westerne waves his weary wagon did recure. 



THE GARDEN OF PROSERPINA. 

Book II. — Canto VII. 

Mammon emmoved was with inward wrath ; 
Yet, forcing it to fayne, him forth thence ledd. 
Through griesly shadowes by a beaten path, 
Into a gardin goodly garnished 



THE FA ERIE QUEEMR. 125 

With hearbs and fruits, whose kinds mote not be 

redd : 
Not such as earth out of her fruitfull woomb, 
Throwes forth to men, sweet and well savored, 
But direfull deadly black, both leafe and bloom, 
Fitt to adorne the dead and deck the drery toombe. 

There mournfull cypresse grew in greatest store ; 
And trees of bitter gall ; and heben sad ; 
Dead sleeping poppy ; and black hellebore ; 
Cold coloquintida ; and tetra mad ; 
Mortall samnitis ; and cicuta bad, 
With which th' uniust Atheniens made to dy 
Wise Socrates, who, thereof quaffing glad, 
Pourd out his life and last philosophy 
To the fayre Critias, his dearest belamy ! 

The gardin of Proserpina this hight : 
And in the midst thereof a silver seat, 
With a thick arber goodly over dight, 
In which she often usd from open heat 
Herselfe to shroud, and pleasures to entreat : 
Next thereunto did grow a goodly tree, 
With braunches broad dispredd and body great, 
Clothed with leaves, that none the wood mote see, 
And loaden all with fruit as thick as it might bee. 

Their fruit were golden apples glistring bright, 
That goodly was their glory to behold ; 
On earth like never grew, ne living wight 
Like ever saw, but they from hence were sold ; 
For those, which Hercules ^ with conquest bold 
Got from great Atlas daughters, hence began. 



126 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And planted there did bring forth fruit of gold ; 
And those, with which th' Euboean young man ^ wan 
Swift Atalanta, when through craft he her out-ran. 

Here also sprong that goodly golden fruit, 
With which Acontius ^ got his lover trew, 
Whom he had long time sought with fruitlesse suit : 
Here eke that famous golden apple grew. 
The which emongst the gods false Ate * threw ; 
For which th' Idaean ladies ^ disagreed, 
Till partiall Paris dempt it Venus dew, 
And had of her fayre Helen for his meed, 
That many noble Greekes and Troians made to bleed. 



THE GARDEN OF ADONIS. 

Book III. — Canto VI. 

In that same gardin all the goodly flowres, 
Wherewith dame Nature doth her beautify 
And decks the girlonds of her paramoures, 
Are fetcht : there is the first seminary ^ 
Of all things that are borne to live and dye. 
According to their kynds.^ Long worke it were 
Here to account the endlesse progeny 
Of all the weeds that bud and blossome there ; 
But so much as doth need must needs be counted here. 

It sited was in fruitfull soyle of old, 

And girt in with two walls on either side ; 

The one of yron, the other of bright gold, 

That none might thorough breake, nor overstride; 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 127 

And double gates it had which opened wide, 
By which both in and out men moten pas ; 
Th' one faire and fresh, the other old and dride : 
Old Genius ^ the porter of them was, 
Old Genius, the which a double nature has. 

He letteth in, he letteth out to wend 
All that to come into the world desire : 
A thousand thousand naked babes attend 
About him day and night, which doe require 
That he with fleshly weeds would them attire : 
Such as him list, such as eternall fate 
Ordained hath, he clothes with sinfull mire,^ 
And sendeth forth to live in mortall state, 
Till they agayn returne backe by the hinder gate. 

After that they againe retourned beene, 
They in that gardin planted bee agayne, 
And grow afresh, as they had never scene 
Fleshly corruption nor mortall payne : 
Some thousand yeares so doen they there remayne, 
And then of him are clad with other hew, 
Or sent into the chaungefull world agayne, 
Till thether they retourne where first they grew : 
So, like a wheele, arownd they ronne from old to new. 

Ne needs there gardiner to sett or sow. 
To plant or prune ; for of their owne accord 
All things, as they created were, doe grow, 
And yet remember well the mighty word 
Which first was spoken by th' Almighty Lord, 
That bad them to increase and multiply : 
Ne doe they need, with water of the ford 
Or of the clouds, to moysten their roots dry : 
For in themselves eternall moisture they imply .^ 



128 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Infinite shapes of creatures there are bred, 
And uncouth formes, which none yet ever knew: 
And every sort is in a sondry bed 
Sett by itselfe, and ranckt in comely rew : 
Some fitt for reasonable sowles t'indew ; 
Some made for beasts, some made for birds to weare; 
And all the fruitfull spawne of fishes hew 
In endlesse rancks along enraunged were, 
That seemd the ocean could not containe them there. 

Daily they grow, and daily forth are sent 
Into the world, it to replenish more ; 
Yet is the stocke not lessened nor spent, 
But still remaines in everlasting store 
As it at first created was of yore : 
For in the wide wombe of the world there lyes, 
In hatefull darknes and in deep horrore. 
An huge eternall chaos, which supplyes, 
The substaunces of Natures fruitfull progenyes. 

All things from thence doe their first being fetch, 
And borrow matter whereof they are made ; 
Which, whenas forme and feature it does ketch, 
Becomes a body, and doth then invade 
The state of hfe out of the griesly shade. 
That substaunce is eterne, and bideth so ; 
Ne, when the life decayes and forme does fade 
Doth it consume and into nothing goe. 
But chaunged is and often altred to and free. 

The substaunce is not chaungd nor altered, 
But th' only forme and outward fashion ; 
For every substaunce is conditioned 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 129 

To chaunge her hew, and sonclry formes to don, 
Meet for her temper and complexion : 
For formes are variable, and decay 
By course of kinde and by occasion ; 
And that faire flowre of beautie fades away 
As doth the lilly fresh before the sunny ray. 

Great enimy to it, and to all the rest 
That in the gardin of Adonis springs, 
Is wicked Time ; who with his scyth addrest 
Does mow the flowring herbes and goodly things 
And all their glory to the ground downe flings, 
Where they do wither and are fowly mard : 
He flyes about, and with his flaggy wings 
Beates downe both leaves and buds without regard, 
Ne ever pitty may relent his malice hard. 

Yet pitty often did the gods relent. 
To see so faire thinges mard and spoiled quight : 
And their great mother Venus did lament 
The losse of her deare brood, her deare delight : 
Her hart was pierst with pitty at the sight. 
When walking through the gardin them she spyde, 
Yet no'te she find redresse for such despight : 
For all that lives is subiect to that law : 
All things decay in time, and to their end doe draw. 

But were it not that Time their troubler is, 

All that in this delightfull gardin growes 

Should happy bee, and have immortall blis : 

For here all plenty and all pleasure flowes ; 

And sweete Love gentle fitts emongst them throwes 

Without fell rancor or fond gealosy : 



130 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Franckly each paramour bis leman knowes ; 
Each bird his mate ; ne any does envy 
Their goodly meriment and gay feUcity. 

There is continuall spring, and harvest there 
Continual!, both meeting at one tyme : 
For both the boughes doe laughing blossoms beare, 
And with fresh colours decke the wanton pryme, 
And eke attonce the heavy trees they clyme. 
Which seeme to labour under their fruites lode : 
The whiles the ioyous birdes make their pastyme 
Emongst the shady leaves, their sweet abode, 
And their trew loves without suspition tell abrode. 

Right in the middest of that Paradise 
There stood a stately mount, on whose round top 
A gloomy grove of myrtle trees did rise. 
Whose shady boughes sharp Steele did never lop, 
Nor wicked beastes their tender buds did crop, 
But like a girlond compassed the hight. 
And from their fruitfull sydes sweet gum did drop, 
That all the ground, with pretious deaw bedight, 
Threw forth most dainty odours and most sweet delight. 

And in the thickest covert of that shade 
There was a pleasant arber, not by art 
But of the trees owne inclination'' made. 
Which knitting their rancke braunches part to part, 
With wanton yvie-twine entrayld athwart, 
And eglantine and caprifole emong, 
Fashiond above within their inmost part, 
That nether Phoebus beams could through them throng 
Nor Aeolus sharp blast could worke them any wrong. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 131 

And all about grew every sorte of flowre,'^ 
To which sad lovers were transformde of yore ; 
Fresh Hyacinthus, Phoebus paramoure 
And dearest love ; 

Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watry shore ; 
Sad Amaranthus, made a flowre but late, 
Sad Amaranthus, in whose purple gore 
Me seemes I see Amintas wretched fate. 
To whom sweet poets verse hath given endless date. 



THE BOWER OF BLISS. 

Book II. — Canto XII. 

Thence passing forth, they shortly doe arryve 
Whereas ^ the Bowre of Bliss was situate ; 
A place pickt out by choyce of best alyve, 
That natures worke by art can imitate : 
In which whatever in this worldly state 
Is sweete and pleasing unto living sense, 
Or that may dayntest fantasy aggrate, 
Was poured forth with plentifull dispence, 
And made there to abound with lavish affluence. 

Goodly it was enclosed rownd about. 
As well their entred guestes to keep within, 
As those unruly beasts to hold without ; 
Yet was the fence thereof but weake and thin ; 
Nought feard their force, that fortilage to win, 
But Wisedomes powre, and Temperaunces might. 
By which the mightiest things efforced bin : 
And eke the gate was wrought of substaunce light, 
Rather for pleasure then for battery or fight. 



132 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Yt framed was of precious yvory, 
That seemd a worke of admirable witt ; 
And therein all the famous history 
Of lason and Medaea was ywritt ; 
Her mighty charmes, her furious loving fitt ; 
His goodly conquest of the golden fleece, 
His falsed fayth, and love too lightly flitt ; 
The wondred ^ Argo, which in venturous peece 
First through the Euxine seas bore all the flowr of 
Greece. 

Ye might have seen the frothy billowes fry 
Under the ship as thorough them she went, 
That seemd the waves were into yvory, 
Or yvory into the waves were sent ; 
And otherwhere the snowy substaunce sprent 
With vermeil, like the boyes blood ^ therein shed, 
A piteous spectacle did represent ; 
And otherwhiles with gold besprinkeled 
Yt seemed th' enchaunted flame, which did Creusa^ wed. 

All this and more might in that goodly gate 
Be red, that ever open stood to all 
Which thether came : but in the porch there sate 
A comely personage of stature tall, 
And semblaunce pleesing, more than naturall, 
That travellers to him seemd to entize ; 
His looser garment to the ground did fall, 
And flew about his heeles in wanton wize. 
Not fitt for speedy pace or manly exercize. 

They in that place him Genius did call : 
Not that celestiall Powre ^ to whom the care 
Of life, and generation of all 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 133 

That lives, perteines in charge particulare, 
Who wondrous things concerning our welfare, 
And straunge phantomes, doth lett us ofte foresee, 
And ofte of secret ills bids us beware : 
That is our Selfe, whom though we do not see, 
Yt each doth in himselfe it well perceive to bee : 

Therefore a god him sage Antiquity 
Did wisely make, and good Agdistes ^ call ; 
But this same was to that quite contrary, 
The foe of life, that good envyes to all, 
That secretly doth us procure to fall 
Through guilefull semblants, which he makes us see : 
He of this gardin had the governall, 
And Pleasures porter was devizd to bee, 
Holding a staffe in hand for more formalitee. 

With diverse fiowres he daintily was deckt. 
And strowed rownd about ; and by his side 
A mighty mazer bowle of wine was sett. 
As if it had to him bene sacrifide ; 
Wherewith all new-come guests he gratyfide : 
So did he eke Sir Guyon passing by ; 
But he his ydle curtesie defide. 
And overthrew his bowle disdainfully. 
And broke his staffe, with which he charmed semblants 
sly. 

Thus being entred they behold arownd 

A large and spacious plaine, on every side 

Strowed with pleasauns ; whose fayre grassy grownd 

Mantled with greene, and goodly beautifide 

With all the ornaments of Floraes pride, 

Wherewith her mother Art, as halfe in scorne 



134 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride 
Did decke her, and too lavishly adorne. 
When forth from virgin bowre she comes in th' early 
morne. 

Thereto the hevens alwayes joviall 
Lookte on them lovely, still in stedfaste state, 
Ne suffred storme nor frost on them to fall, 
Their tender buds or leaves to violate : 
Nor scorching heat, nor cold intemperate, 
T' afflict the creatures which therein did dwell ; 
But the milde ayre with season moderate 
Gently attempred, and disposd so well, 
That still it breathed forth sweet spirit and holesom 
smell : 

More sweet and holesome then the pleasaunt hill 
Of Rhodope,' on which the nymphe, that bore 
A gyaunt babe, herselfe for griefe did kill ; 
Or the Thessalian Tempe, where of yore 
Fayre Daphne Phoebus hart with love did gore ; 
Or Ida, where the gods lov'd to repayre, 
Whenever they their hevenly bowres forlore ; 
Or sweet Parnasse the haunt of muses fayre : 
Or Eden selfe, if ought with Eden mote compayre. 

Much wondered Guyon at the fayre aspect 
Of that sweet place, yet suffred no delight 
To sincke into his sence nor mind affect ; 
But passed forth, and lookt still forward right, 
Brydling his will and maystering his might : 
Till that he came unto another gate ; 
No gate, but like one, being goodly dight 
With bowes and braunches, which did broad dilate 
Their clasping armes in wanton wreathings intricate. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 135 

FLORIMEL AND THE WITCH'S SON. 
Book III. — Canto VIL 

Like as an hynd forth singled from the heard, 
That hath escaped from a ravenous beast, 
Yet flyes away of her owne feete afeard ; 
And every leafe, that shaketh with the least 
Murmure of winde, her terror hath encreast : 
So fledd fayre Florimell ^ from her vaine feare, 
Long after she from peril was releast : 
Each shade she saw, and each noyse she did heare, 
Did seeme to be the same which she escapt whileare. 

All that same evening she in flying spent, 
And all that night her course continewed : 
Ne did she let dull sleepe once to relent 
Nor wearinesse to slack her hast, but fled 
Ever alike, as if her former dred 
Were hard behind, her ready to arrest : 
And her white palfrey, having conquered 
The maistring raines out of her weary wrest, 
Perforce her carried where ever he thought best. 

So long as breath and hable puissaunce 
Did native corage unto him supply, 
His pace he freshly forward did advaunce, 
And carried her beyond all ieopardy ; 
But nought that wanteth rest can long aby : 
He, having through incessant traveill spent 
His force, at last perforce adowne did ly, 
Ne foot could further move : the lady gent^ 
Thereat was suddein strook with great astonishment ; 



136 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And, forst t' alight, on foot mote algates fare 
A traveiler unwonted to such way ; 
Need teacheth her this lesson hard and rare, 
That Fortune all in eqiiall launce ^ doth sway. 
And viortall 7niseries doth make her play. 
So long she traveild, till at length she came 
To an hilles side, which did to her bewray 
A litle valley subiect to the same. 
All coverd with thick woodes that quite it overcame. 

Through th' tops of the high trees she did descry 
A little smoke, whose vapour thin and light 
Reeking aloft uprolled to the sky : 
Which chearefull signe did send unto her sight 
That in the same did wonne some living wight. 
Eftsoones her steps she thereunto applyd, 
And came at last in weary wretched plight 
Unto the place, to which her hope did guyde 
To finde some refuge there, and rest her wearie syde. 

There in a gloomy hollow glen she found 
A little cottage, built of stickes and reedes 
In homely wize, and wald with sods around ; 
In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weedes 
And wilfull want, all carelesse of her needes; 
So choosing solitarie to abide 
Far from all neighbours, that her divelish deedes 
And hellish arts from people she might hide. 
And hurt far off unknowne whomever she envi'de. 

The damzell there arriving entred in ; 
Where sitting on the flore the hag she found 
Busie (as seem'd) about some wicked gin : 
Who, soone as she beheld that suddeine stound, 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 137 

Lightly upstarted from the dustie ground, 
And with fell looke and hollow deadly gaze 
Stared on her awhile, as one astound, 
Ne had one word to speake for great amaze ; 
But shewd by outward signes that dread her sence did 
daze. 

At last, turning her feare to foolish wrath. 
She askt. What devill had her thether brought, 
And who she was, and what unwonted path 
Had guided her, unwelcomed, unsought ? 
To which the damzell full of doubtful! thought 
Her mildly answer'd ; " Beldame, be not wroth 
With silly virgin, by adventure brought 
Unto your dwelling, ignorant and loth. 
That crave but rowme to rest while tempest overblo'th." 

With that adowne out of her christall eyne 
Few trickling teares she softly forth let fall, 
That like two orient pedes did purely shyne 
Upon her snowy cheeke ; and therewithal! 
She sighed soft, that none so bestial! 
Nor salvage hart but ruth of her sad plight 
Would make to melt, or piteously appall ; 
And that vile hag, all were her whole delight 
In mischiefe, was much moved at so pitteous sight : 

And gan recomfort her, in her rude wyse, 
With womanish compassion of her plaint, 
Wiping the teares from her suffused eyes. 
And bidding her sit downe to rest her faint 
And wearie limbes awhile : she nothing quaint 
Nor 'sdeignful! of so homely fashion, 



138 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Sith brought she was now to so hard constraint, 
Sate downe upon the dusty ground anon ; 
As glad of that small rest, as bird of tempest gon. 

Tho gan she gather up her garments rent 
And her loose lockes to dight in order dew 
With golden wreath and gorgeous ornament ; 
Whom such whenas the wicked hag did vew, 
She was astonisht at her heavenly hew, 
And doubted her to deeme an earthly wight, 
But or some goddesse, or of Dianes crew. 
And thought her to adore with humble spright : 
T' adore thing so divine as beauty were but right. 

This wicked woman had a wicked sonne. 
The comfort of her age and weary dayes, 
A laesy loord ^ for nothing good to donne, 
But stretched forth in ydlenesse alwayes, 
Ne ever cast his mind to covet prayse, 
Or ply himselfe to any honest trade ; 
But all the day before the sunny rayes 
He us'd to slug, or sleepe in slothfull shade : 
Such laesienesse both lewd and poor attonce him made. 

He, comming home at undertime, there found 
The fayrest creature that he ever saw 
Sitting beside his mother on the ground ; 
The sight whereof did greatly him adaw. 
And his base thought with terrour and with aw 
So inly smot, that as one, which hath gaz'd 
On the bright sunne unwares, doth soone withdraw 
His feeble eyne with too much brightnes daz'd ; 
So stared he on her, and stood long while amaz'd. 



THE FAERIE QUEENS. 139 

Softly at last he gan his mother aske, 
What mister wight that was, and whence deriv'd, 
That in so straunge disguizement there did maske, 
And by what accident she there arriv'd ? 
But she, as one nigh of her wits depriv'd 
With nought but ghastly lookes him answered ; 
Like to a ghost, that lately is reviv'd - 
From Stygian shores where late it wandered : 
So both at her, and each at other wondered. 

But the fayre virgin was so meeke and myld, 
That she to them vouchsafed to embace 
Her goodly port, and to their senses vyld 
Her gentle speach applyde, that in short space 
She grew familiare in that desert place. 
During which time the chorle, through her so kind 
And courteise, conceiv'd affection bace. 
And cast to love her in his brutish mind ; 
No love, but brutish lust, that was so beastly tind. 

Closely the wicked flame his bowels brent, 
And shortly grew into outrageous fire ; 
Yet had he not the hart, nor hardiment, 
As unto her to utter his desire ; 
His caytive thought durst not so high aspire : 
But with soft sighes and lovely semblaunces 
He ween'd that his affection entire 
She should aread ; many resemblaunces 
To her he made, and many kinde remembraunces. 

Oft from the forrest wildings ^ he did bring. 
Whose sides empurpled were with smyling red ; 
And oft young birds, which he had taught to sing 
His maistresse praises sweetly caroled : 



140 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Girlonds of flowres sometimes for her faire hed 
He fine would dight ; sometimes the squirrel wild 
He brought to her in bands, as conquered 
To be her thrall, his fellow-servant vild : 
All which she of him tooke with countenance meeke and 
mild. 

But, past a while, when she fit season saw 

To leave that desert mansion, she cast 

In secret wize herselfe thence to withdraw, 

For feare of mischiefe, which she did forecast 

Might by the witch or by her sonne compast ; 

Her wearie palfrey, closely^ as she might, 

Now well recovered after long repast. 

In his proud furnitures she freshly dight, 

His late miswandred wayes now to remeasure right. 

And earely, ere the dawning day appear'd, 

She forth issewed, and on her iourney went ; 

She went in perill, of each noyse affeard 

And of each shade that did itselfe present ; 

For still she feared to be overhent 

Of that vile hag, or her uncivile sonne ; 

Who when, too late awaking, well they kent 

That their fayre guest was gone, they both begonne 

To make exceeding mone as they had beene undonne. 



COLIN CLOUT AND HIS FAIRE LASSIE. 

Book VI.— Canto X. 

Unto this place whenas the elfin knight^ 
Approcht, him seemed that the merry sound 
Of a shrill pipe he playing heard on hight, 



THE FAERIE QUEEN E. 141 

And many feete fast thumping th' hollow ground, 
That through the woods their eccho did rebound. 
He neigher drew, to weete what mote it be ; 
There he a troupe of ladies dauncing found 
Full merrily, and making gladfuU glee, 
And in the midst a shepheard piping he did see. 

He durst not enter into th' open greene, 
For dread of them unwares to be descryde, 
For breaking off their daunce, if he were seene ; 
But in the covet of the wood did byde, 
Beholding all, yet of them unespyde : 
There he did see, that pleased much his sight, 
That even he himselfe his eyes envyde, 
An hundred naked maidens lilly white 
All raunged in a ring, and dauncing in delight. 

All they without were raunged in a ring. 
And daunced round ; but in the midst of them 
Three other ladies did both daunce and sing. 
The whilest the rest them round about did hemme, 
And like a girlond did in compasse stemme ; 
And in the middest of those same three was placed 
Another damzell, as a precious gemme. 
Amidst a ring most richly well enchased. 
That with her goodly presence all the rest much graced. 

Looke ! how the crowne, which Ariadne^ wore 

Upon her yvory forehead that same day 

That Theseus her unto his bridale bore. 

When the bold Centaures made that bloudy fray 

With the fierce Lapithes which did them dismay ; 

Being now placed in the firmament, 



142 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Through the bright heaven doth her beams display, 
And is unto the starres an ornament, 
Which round about her move in order excellent. 

Such was the beauty of this goodly band, 
Whose sundry parts were here too long to tell : 
But she, that in the midst of them did stand, 
Seem'd all the rest in beauty to excell, 
Crownd with a rosie girlond that right well 
Did her beseeme : and ever, as the crew 
About her daunst, sweet flowres that far did smell 
And fragrant odours they uppon her threw ; 
But, most of all, those three did her with gifts endew. 

Those were the Graces, daughters of delight, 
Handmaides of Venus, which are wont to haunt 
Uppon this hill, and daunce there day and night : 
Those three to men all gifts of grace do graunt ; 
And all, that Venus in herself doth vaunt, 
Is borrow'd of them : but that faire one, 
That in the midst was placed paravaunt, 
Was she to whom that shepheard pypt alone ; 
That made him pipe so merrily, as never none. 

She was, too weete, that iolly shepheards lasse. 
Which piped there unto that merry rout ; 
That iolly shepheard, which there piped, was 
Poore Colin Clout, (who knows not Colin Clout.?) 
He pypt apace, whilest they him daunst about. 
Pype, iolly shepheard, pype thou now apace 
Unto thy love that made thee low to lout ; 
Thy love is present there with thee in place ; 
Thy love is there advaunst to be another grace. 



THE FAERTE QUEENE. 143 

Much wondred Calidore at this straunge sight, 
Whose like before his eye had never seene ; 
And standing long astonished in spright, 
And rapt with pleasaunce, wist not what to weene ; 
Whether it were the traine of beauties queene, 
Or nymphes, or faeries, or enchaunted show ; 
With which his eyes mote have deluded beene. 
Therefore, resolving what it was to know. 
Out of the wood he rose, and toward them did go. 

But, soone as he appeared to their vew, 
They vanisht all away ^ out of his sight, 
And cleane were gone, which way he never knew, 
All save the shepheard, who, for fell despight 
Of that displeasure, broke his bag-pipe quight, 
And made great mone for that unhappy turne : 
But Calidore, though no lesse sory wight 
For that mishap, yet seeing him to mourne. 
Drew neare, that he the truth of all by him mote learne : 

And, first him greeting, thus unto him spake ; 
" Haile, iolly shepheard, which thy ioyous dayes 
Here leadest in this goodly merry-make. 
Frequented of these gentle nymphes alwayes, 
Which to thee fiocke to heare thy lovely layes ! 
Tell me what mote these dainty damzels be. 
Which here with thee doe make their pleasant playes; 
Right happy thou, that mayest them freely see! 
But why, when I them saw, fled they away from me?" 

" Not I so happy," answerd then that swaine, 

" As thou unhappy, which them thence didst chace, 

Whom by no meanes thou canst recall againe ; 



144 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

For, being gone, none can them bring in place, 
But whom they of themselves list so to grace." 
" Right sorry I," saide then Sir Calidore, 
" That my ill-fortune did them hence displace : 
But since things passed none may now restore, 
Tell me what were they all, whose lacke thee grieves so 
sore." 

Tho gan that shepheard thus for to dilate ; 
"Then wote, thou shepheard, whatsoe'er thou bee, 
That all those ladies which thou sawest late, 
Are Venus damzels, all within her fee,. 
But differing in honour and degree ; 
They all are graces which on her depend ; 
Besides a thousand more which ready bee 
Her to adorne, whenso she forth doth wend ; 
But those three in the midst, doe chiefe on her attend. 

"They are the daughters of sky-ruling love, 
By him begot of faire Eurynome, 
The Oceans daughter, in this pleasant grove. 
As he, this way comming from feastful glee 
Of Thetis wedding with Aecidee,* 
In sommers shade himselfe here rested weary. 
The first of them hight mylde Euphrosyne,^ 
Next faire Aglaia, last Thalia merry ; 
Sweete goddesses all three, which me in mirth do cherry ! 

" These three on men all gracious gifts bestow, 
Which decke the body or adorne the mynde. 
To make them lovely or well-favoured show ; 
As comely carriage, entertainment kinde, 
Sweete semblaunt, friendly offices that bynde, 
And all the complements of curtesie : 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 145 

They teach us, how to each degree and kynde 
We should ourselves demeane, to low, to hie, 
To friends, to foes ; which skill men call civility. 

"Therefore they alwaies smoothly seeme to smile, 
That we likewise should mylde and gentle be ; 
And also naked are, that without guile 
Or false dissemblaunce all them plaine may see, 
Simple and true from covert malice free ; 
And eeke themselves so in their daunce they bore, 
That two of them still froward seem'd to bee, 
But one still towards shew'd herselfe afore ; 
That good should from us goe, then come in greater 
store. 

" Such were those goddesses which ye did see : 
But that fourth mayd, which there amidst them traced, 
Who can aread what creature mote she bee, 
Whether a creature, or a goddesse graced 
With heavenly gifts from heven first enraced ! 
But whatso sure she was, she worthy was 
To be the fourth with those three other placed : 
Yet was she certes but a countrey lasse ; 
Yet she all other countrey lasses farre did passe : 

" So farre, as doth the daughter of the day 
All other lesser lights in light excell ; 
So farre doth she in beautyfull array 
Above all other lasses beare the bell ; ^ 
Ne lesse in vertue that beseemes her well 
Doth she exceede the rest of all her race ; 
For which the graces, that here wont to dwell, 
Have for more honor brought her to this place. 
And graced her so much to be another grace. 



146 - THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

" Another grace she well deserves to be, 
In whom so many graces gathered are, 
Excelling much the meane of her degree ; 
Divine resemblaunce, beauty soveraine rare, 
Firme chastity, that spight ne blemish dare! 
All which she with such courtesie doth grace, 
That all her peres cannot with her compare. 
But quite are dimmed when she is in place : 
She made me often pipe, and now to pipe apace. 

" Sunne of the world, great glory of the sky, 
That all the earth doest lighten with thy rayes. 
Great Gloriana,'^ greatest majesty ! 
Pardon thy Shepheard, mongst so many layes 
As he hath sung of thee in all his dayes, 
To make one minime of thy poore handmayd. 
And underneath thy feete to place her prayse. 
That, when thy glory shall be farre displayd 
To future age, of her this mention may be made !" 

When thus that shepheard ended had his speach, 
Sayd Calidore : "Now sure it yrketh mee, 
That to thy blisse I made this lucklesse breach. 
As now the author of thy bale to be. 
Thus to bereave thy loves deare sight from thee : 
But, gentle shepheard, pardon thou my shame. 
Who rashly sought that which I mote not see." 
Thus did the courteous knight excuse his blame, 
And to recomfort him all comely meanes did frame. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 147 



NOTES. 

Biographical Note. — Edmund Spenser was born in London in 1552. 
He was educated at Merchant Taylors' School and at Pembroke Hall, 
Cambridge, where he graduated in 1576. At college he was the intimate 
friend of Gabriel Harvey and other men of note; and during the next 
three years, a part of which was spent in London, he became acquainted 
with Philip Sidney, and others in Lord Leicester's household. In 1580 
was published, but without his name, "The Shepheards Calender"; and 
in the autumn of that year he went to Ireland as the private secretary of 
Lord Grey of Wilton. The remainder of his life, with the exception 
of short visits to England, was spent in Ireland, where he finally settled on 
a grant of forfeited land at Kilcolman in the county of Cork. Sir Walter 
Raleigh, who visited him in 1589, persuaded him to accompany him to 
London, where, in 1590, he published the first three books of "The Faerie 
Queene." In 1591 he returned to Ireland; and in June, 1594, he married 
Elizabeth, the daughter of a neighbor settler. (See note 7, at top of page 
154). The next year he again visited London, and in January, 1595-96, 
published the fourth, fifth, and sixth Books of the " Faerie Queene." About 
the same time were published his " Colin Clouts Come Home Again," an 
account of his visit to the Court in 1589-90, and an " Epithalamion," 
relating to his courtship and marriage. In 1598 a bloody rebellion was 
inaugurated by the Irish. Spenser's castle was sacked and burned, and he 
and his family barely escaped with their lives. In the following year he 
returned in great distress to London. He died in King Street, West- 
minster, Jan. 16, 1599, and was buried in the Abbey. 

First Adventure of the Red Cross Knight. (Page 100.) 

1. Each book of "The Faerie Queene" consists of twelve cantos of 
about fifty stanzas each. Each canto is introduced by a four-line doggerel, 
containing the argument, or a brief summary of the narrative — in imita- 
tion, doubtless, of Ariosto's " Orlando Furioso." 

2. chide, champ. Spenser uses many words in a sense quite different 
from their ordinary meaning. Angry, in the same line, means inipatioit. 
The reader will find some of these expressions briefly explained in the 
Glossary which follows these Notes; the special meaning attached to many 
other words is sufficiently obvious from the context. 

3. soveraine, efficacious, saving — now usually sovereign. 

" Some sovereign comforts drawn from common sense." — Dryden. 
From the Latin supern, supreme, which in turn is from supra, above. 
The old spelling sovran, or even soveraine, is nearer the Latin. 



148 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

4. lemans lap. Earth is here represented as Jove's sweetheart (le- 
man). In the Greek mythology she is the consort of Uranus, the heavens. 

5. the trees. Compare this catalogue of trees with that given by 
Chaucer on page 62 of this volume. Much can they praise is a favorite 
expression of Spenser's, and occurs very often in this poem. 

6. Cypresse funerall. The Romans dedicated the cypress to Pluto, 
because, when once cut, it never grows again. Cypress wreaths were much 
used at funerals. 

7. laurell. The Greeks gave a wreath of laurel to the victor in the 
Pythian games. In modern times, the laurel is a symbol of victory and 
peace. It was a custom in the English universities to present a laurel 
wreath to graduates in poetry and rhetoric, hence the \&xva poet laureate. 

8. willow. Fuller says, "The willow is a sad tree, whereof such as 
have lost their love make their mourning garlands." The Jews in captivity 
were represented as hanging their harps on the willows; that is, laying 
aside mirth for weeping. See " Much Ado About Nothing," Act ii. sc. i. 

9. platane, plane-tree, holme, probably the holly. 

10. greedy hardiment, eager hardihood. 

11. without entraile, untwisted. 

12. raft. Past tense of rift, to split, to cleave. 

13. wend. From A.-S. wendan, to go. We still use its past tense, 
went, and also, in poetry, wend and its variations. 

14. Bidding his beades, counting his beads. The word (^^ar/ originally 
meant a prayer, and biddan (A.-S.) meant to pray. When little balls 
with holes through them were used for keeping account of the number of 
prayers, the name bead was gradually transferred to them. 

15. thorough. An old form of the word through, still retained in 
thorough-fare. From Teut. thuru, a gate, a passage; whence duru, door. 

16. a little wyde, a little way off, at a little distance. 

17. Plutoes griesly dame. Proserpina. 

18. Gorgon, Cocytus, Styx. See " Classical Dictionary." 

Una and the Lion. (Page in.) 

1. divorced, separated. Through the wiles of the magician (Hypoc- 
risy), the meeting with whom is described in the first canto, the Red Cross 
Knight has deserted Una, and she is now wandering alone through the 
wilderness, searching for him. 

2. eye of heaven. 

"All places that the eye of heaven visits 
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens." 

— Shakespeare, King Richard H. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 149 

The Procession of the Passions. (Page 114.) 

1. roiall dame. Lucifera, or Pride, the daughter of Pluto and Proser- 
pina. She and her six counsellors are the seven deadly sins. 

2. lunoes golden chayre. Juno is represented in mythology and in 
ancient works of art as riding through fields of air in a golden chariot 
drawn by peacocks. 

" The sea-gods granted : in her easy car, 
By painted peabirds, Saturnia moves 
Through the clear air." — Ovid. 

Ovid also says that Juno planted the eyes of Argus in the tail of her 
favorite bird; but others assert that Argus himself was turned into a 
peacock. 

3. new-fanglenesse. The word new-fangled is frequently used by 
the older writers. Fangle, from A.-S. fengan, to begin; sometimes used 
in the sense of foolish, trifling. 

" Constant without newfangledness." — Roger Ascham. 

4. St. Fraunces fire. Probably " St. Anthony's fire," erysipelas. 
Compare the description of Envy, on page 118, with that in "Piers 

Ploughman," on page 30. 

Duessa's Descent into Hell. (Page 120.) 

The Saracen Knight, Sansfoy, is defeated in battle by the Red Cross 
Knight, and is left as dead upon the field. Duessa, in the chariot of 
Night, descends to hell in order to have him healed by Esculapius, the 
god of the medical art. 

1. Avernus. (From Gr. a-ornos, without birds.) A lake in Cam- 
pania, the gaseous fumes from which were said to kill all the birds that 
attempted to fly over it. It was called the entrance to hell, and such is 
the meaning of the word here used. 

2. Phlegeton. 

"... The infernal bounds 
Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds." — Pope. 

Compare these two stanzas with a similar description in Pope's " Ode 
on St. Cecilia's Day." See "Classical Dictionary," for proper names. 
Tityus. The poet probably means Prometheus. 

3. Hippoljrtus. For the story of Hippolytus see the tragedy of 
Euripides having this title, also the " Phedre " of Racine. A very similar 
legend is that of Saiawush and his step-mother Sddaveh, related in the 
Persian " Shah Nameh." 



150 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

4. Aveugles sonne. Literally, the son of blindness, i.e. Sansfoy, the 
Saracen Knight, the personification of unbelief. 

The Garden of Proserpina. (Page 124.) 

1. Hercules. The eleventh task of Hercules was to bring to his master 
Earystheus the golden apples of the Hesperides. These apples were in 
the keeping of the Western-Maids, the " the clear-voiced Hesperides," 
whom Hesiod describes as the daughters of Night. It was Atlas who 
procured the apples for Hercules. Milton, in "Comus," speaks of 

" Hesperus and his daughters three 
That sing about the golden tree." 

2. Euboean young man. Milanion. See " Classical Dictionary." 

3. The story of Acontius was derived by Ovid, from a lost poem by 
Callimachus, entitled " Cydippe." See " Classical Dictionary." 

4. false Ate. Ate, the goddess of Discord, was not invited to the 
wedding feast of Thetis and Peleus. Angered at the slight thus put upon 
her, she threw on the table, where all the other deities were sitting, a 
golden apple "for the most beautiful." It was claimed by Juno, Pallas, 
and Venus, here called " th' Idsean ladies." These submitted their case, 
finally, to Paris, a shepherd on Mount Ida. Paris awarded the apple to 
Venus, and the final result of his judgment was the Trojan War. 

The Garden of Adonis. (Page 128.) 

1. first seminary, place of origin; seed-place. From Lat. semen, 
seminis, seed. 

2. kynds, natures. Spenser constantly uses the word kind {ox nature. 
He also says kindly for natural, and unkindly for tinnaturally. The 
author of the " Vision of Piers Ploughman " personifies nature as Kind. 

3. Old Genius, the generator. From Lat. geno., or gigno, to beget. 
In Roman mythology. Genius was a deity who had the power of pardoning. 
" Every man had his Genius, and every woman her Juno; that is, a spirit 
who had given them being, and was regarded as their protector through 
lifs; whence the Jews, and from them the Christians, derived their idea 
of Guardian Angels." — Keightley. It was sometimes difficult to distin- 
guish a man's Genius from himself. (See page 132, bottom.) The word 
finally came to denote innate talent (birth-wit) ; whence extraordinary 
mental power, ingenuity, intellect. 

4. sinful! mire, mortal clay. So Milton, in "Comus" (line 244), 
speaks of the " mortal mixture of earth's mould." 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 151 

5. imply, wrap up. From Lat. in, in, and plico, to fold. That is, 
they contain in themselves eternal moisture. 

6. inclination, bending. Lat. inclinatio. 

7. every sort of flower. Hyacinthus was killed accidentally by Apollo 
(Phoebus), while playing quoits. His blood became a flower inscribed 
with Apollo's words of sorrow, at, ai (alas, alas). 

" The Hyacinth bewrays the doleful ai. 
And culls the tribute of Apollo's sigh. 
Still on its bloom the mournful flower retains 
The lovely blue that dyed the striphng's veins." 

— Camoens, Lusiad. 

Narcissus fell in love with his own image in a fountain, and pined away 
until he died and was changed into the flower which bears his name. (See 
page 41.) The amaranth (from Gr. amarantos, unfading) is, in poetry, 
an imaginary flower which never fades. 

" Immortal amarant ! a flower which once 
In Paradise, fast by the tree of life, 
Began to bloom ; but soon for man's offence 
To heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows 
And flowers aloft . . . 

With these, that never fade, the spirits elect 
Bind their resplendent locks." — Milton, Paradise Lost. 

Amintas. Meaning, probably. Sir Philip Sidney. In his pastoral 
elegy on the death of Sidney, Spenser speaks of his illustrious friend as 
having been changed into a flower : — 

" It first grows red, and then to blew doth fade, 
Like Astrophel, which thereinto was made." 

" But thou, wherever thou dost find the same, 
From this day forth do call it Astrophel : 
And when so ever thou it up doest take. 
Do pluck it softly for that shepheard's sake." 

The Bower of Bliss. (Page 131.) 

1. Whereas, at the place in which. 

2. wondred Argo. The wonderful ship Argo. See the story of Jason 
in " Classical Dictionary." 

" While Argo saw her kindred trees 
Descend from Pelion to the main." — Pope. 

3. boyes blood. Referring probably to the murder by Medea of her 
brother Absyrtus, whose body she cut in pieces and left at different places 
in order that her father, who was pursuing her and Jason, might be delayed 
by picking them up. 



152 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

4. Creiisa. The young wife of Jason. Medea sent her an enchanted 
garment which burned her to death when she put it on. The palace, also, 
was consumed by the flames. 

5. celestiall Powre. See note on "Old Genius," p. 150. 

6. Agdistes. The poet probably had in mind Agdistis, a genius of 
human form, who was worshipped in Phrygia in connection with Atys. He 
was said to have been produced from the stone Agdus, which Dencalion 
and Pyrrha threw over their heads to repeople the world after its desola- 
tion by the flood. Agdistes here personifies self-indulgence. 

7. Rhodope. See " Classical Dictionary." 

Florimel and the Witch's Son. (Page 135.) 

1. Florimel, Honey-flower. 

" Lives none this day that may with her compare 
In stedfast chastitie and vertue rare, 
The goodly ornaments of beauty bright ; 
And is yclept Florimel the fayre, 
Faire Florimel belov'd of many a knight." 

Faerie Queen, iii, v. 8. 

2. lady gent, gentle lady. In the old romances the term gent is 
sometimes used to denote a lady; that is, "the gentle one.'' 

3. equall launce, equal balance. Balance is from Lat. bis, two, and 
lanx, dish. 

4. laesy loord. "A loord was wont among the Britons to signifie a 
lord. And therefore the Danes that long time usurped their tyranny here 
in Britaine were called, for more dread than dignitie, lurdanes. . . . But 
being afterward expelled, the name lurdane became so odious unto the 
people that even at this day they use, for more reproch, to call the quar- 
tane Ague the fever lurdane." — Glosse to " Shcpheards Calender ^^ Jtily. 

5. wildings, wild fruits. 

"Ten ruddy wildings in the wood I found." — Dryden. 
Wordsworth uses the word as meaning the tree on which the fruit grows : 
"I see him stand, with a bough of wilding in his hand." — Two April 
Mornings. 

6. closely, secretly, furnitures, equipage, saddle and bridle. 
"The horse's furniture must be of very sensible colors." — Dryden. 

Colin Clout and His Faire Lassie. (Page 140.) 

I. elfin knight. Sir Calidore, the type of courtesy, and the hero of 
the Sixth Book. The model of this knight is Sir Philip Sidney. Colin 



■ THE FAERIE QUEENE. 153 

Clout, " the shepheard," is Spenser himself, and " that ioUy Shepheards 
lass," whom he mentions below, is his wife Elizabeth, elsewhere referred 
to as Mirabella. 

" Witness our Colin, whom though all the Graces 
And all the Muses nurs'd, 

Yet all his hopes were cross'd, all suits denied ; 
Discouraged, scorn'd, his writings vilified. 
Poorly, poor man, he lived ; poorly, poor man, he died." 

Phineas Fletcher, The Purple Island. 

Colin Clout is also the pastoral name which Spenser assumes in the 
"Shepheards Calendar." 

2. Ariadne. It was at the marriarge of Pirithous with Hippodamia 
that " the bold Centaures made that bloudy fray with the fierce Lapithes." 
Although Theseus had promised to make Ariadne his wife, he deserted her 
at Naxos, where, according to the common tradition, she was wedded to 
Bacchus. And it was the crown which Bacchus gave her at their mar- 
riage that was "placed in the firmament." Thus in the Theogony it is 
said that "The gold-haired Bacchus made the blond Ariadne, Minos' 
maid, his blooming spouse, and Saturn's son gave her immortal life." See 
" Classical Dictionary." 

3. They vanisht all away. " Perhaps the allusion is that Sir Philip 
Sidney, imaged in Calidore, drew Spenser from his rustic muse to the 
Court." — Upton. 

4. Aecidee. This word is a patronymic of the descendants of .^^Lacus, 
and here refers to Peleus, the son of /Eacus. See " Qassical Dictionary." 

5. Euphrosyne (Joy), Aglaia (Splendor), and Thalia (Pleasure), the 
" three fair-cheeked Charities," or Graces. Spenser follows Hesiod's 
enumeration and description of these goddesses. Milton says : — 

" But come thou goddess fair and free, 
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, 
And by men heart-easing Mirth, 
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth 
With two sister Graces more, 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore." — L Allegro, 11-16. 

6. beare the bell, be the best. " Before cups were presented to win- 
ners of horse-races, etc., a little gold or silver bell used to be given for 
the prize." 

"Jockey and his horse were by their masters sent 
To put in for the bell. 
They are to run and cannot miss the bell." 

North's Forest of Varieties. 

A modern phrase, equivalent to the former expression " bear the bell," 
is " take the cake." 



154 



THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 



7. Gloriana. Queen Elizabeth. The poet here turns aside to address 
the " faerie queene " herself, and to ask that she will pardon him if, among 
all the songs he has addressed to her, he "make one minime" — compose 
one little lay — in honor of his own wife. 



GLOSSARY. 



aby, abide. 

adaw, daunt, daze, astonish. 

aggrate, delight, please. 

algates, altogether, by all means. 

anon, after awhile. 

attonce, at once. 

bait, to refresh. 

bale, poison. 

belamy, fair friend. Fr. belle ami. 

bestedd, beset, disposed. 

bewray, betray, discover. 

bilive, presently, by and by. 

bin, be, was. 

bootlesse, unprofitable, useless. 

boughtes, circular folds. 

bouzing, drinking. 

brent, burned. 

bridale, nuptial feast. 

byde, remain. 

caprifole, goat-leaf. 

carke, care, thought. 

caytive, base, caitiff. 

cheere, countenance. 

cherry, cherish. 

chorle, a low fellow, churl. 

cicuta, hemlock. 

coloquintida, the bitter apple, 

colocynth. 
compeld, summoned, called, 
crew, company. A.-S. cread. 
dempt, judged, deemed, 
despight, disappointment. 
dight, dressed, clothed. 



dispence, expense, profusion. 

don, to put on. 

edifyde, built. 

effraide, afraid, frightened. 

eftsoones, soon after. 

eglantine, hawthorn. 

eke, also. 

embace, debase. 

endew, endow. 

enforst, obliged. 

enhaunst, lifted up. 

esloyne, withdraw. O. Fr. esloigner. 

essoyne, excuse. Fr. essoyner. 

fain, glad. A.-S. fcrgen. 

fare, to go. A.-S. faran. 

felly, fiercely, cruelly. From fell, 

cruel, 
flaggy, flabby, limber, 
forlore, deserted, forsaken, 
fortilage, a little fort, fortalice. 
forwasted, laid waste. 
forwearied, worn out, wearied. 
fray, to frighten, to make afraid. 
fry, foam. 

gent, gentle, a young lady. 
gin, contrivance, snare; engine, 
girlond, garland, 
giusts, jousts. 
gnarre, snarled, 
griesly, dreadful, frightful. 
griple, grasping, tenacious. 
hardiment, courage, hardihood, 
heapes, multitudes. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE. 



155 



heben, ebony. 

hight, called, entrusted, directed. 

hollownesse, dome. 

hurtlen, rushed, pushed. 

iolly, han<lsome. 

kent, knew. 

leach, physician. A.-S. Icsce. 

leman, sweetheart. From A.-S. 

Icof, loved, and t?ian, person. 
lilled, lolled. 

lin, cease, give over, let in. 
lompish, lumpish, dull, clownish, 
louting, bowing. 
lynage, lineage. 
maistring, mastering, guiding. 
mazer, a maple bowl, a broad 

wooden bowl. 
meete, fit. 
mell, meddle. 
mister, kind. Fr. metier; It. 

tnestiere. 
mote, might, ought. 
ne, no, nor, not. 
needments, necessary articles, 
overhent, overtake. 
paravaunt, publicly, in front, 
perceable, pierceable penetrable, 
perforce, by necessity. 
Phebus, the sun. 
platane, the plane-tree, 
pleasauns, pleasant things, 
portesse, breviary, prayer-book. 

From Fr. porter, to carry, 
preace, press, or crowd, 
pricking, hastening, spurring, 
puissance, power. 
quaint, coy, nice. Old Fr. coint, 

dainty. 
quited, requited, paid back, 
read, advise. 
recure, recover, refresh, 
resemblaunces, likenesses, 
rew, repent. 
rout, company, crowd. 



ruth, pity. 

salvage, savage, woodland. From 
Lat. silva, woods. 

say, silk. Fr. soie. 

scor'd, painted, drawn. 

semblants, phantoms. 

shroud, to shelter. 

silly, harmless, innocent. 

sited, situated. 

sith, since. 

sondry, sundry, divers, several. 

spersed, dispersed, scattered. 

sprent, sprinkled, spread over. 

sprights, spirits. 

staide, hindered. 

stemme, stay, confine. 

stole, a long robe, or garment. 

stound, noise, disturbance. 

swoune, dream, swoon. 

tho, then. 

tind, excited, stirred. 

tire, company, row. 

undertime, afternoon, toward even- 
ing. 

undight, took off. 

vele, veil. 

vermeil, vermilion. 

wastnes, wilderness, vastness, waste. 

wayne, wagon. 

weeds, clothing, dress. A.-S. weed. 

weene, think, wish, hope. 

weening, wishing. 

weet, understand. 

welke, set, grow less. 

whally, whitish (diseased eyes). 

whenas, as soon as. 

whileare, erewhile, a little while ago. 

wimpled, plaited. 

wonne, conquered, won; dwelt, 

wot, know, understand. 

wrest, grasp. 

ycladd, dressed, equipped. 

ydrad, dreaded, feared. 

yrketh, troubles, annoys. 



E\}t IPtlgrtm's progress 

Prom tJiis World to that ivJiich is to Come. 
Written in the Similitude of a Dream.^ 

THE ALLEGORY AND ITS AUTHOR. 

BY H. A. TAINE. 

After the Bible, the book most widely read in Eng- 
land is the "Pilgrim's Progress," by John Bunyan. The 
reason is that the basis of Protestantism is the doctrine 
of salvation by grace, and that no writer has equalled 
Bunyan in making this doctrine understood. 

To treat well of supernatural impressions, one must 
have been subject to them. Bunyan had that kind of 
imagination which produces them. Powerful as that of 
an artist, but more vehement, this imagination worked 
in the man without his co-operation, and besieged him 
with visions which he had neither willed nor foreseen. 
From that moment there was in him, as it were, a 
second self, dominating the first, grand and terrible, 
whose apparitions were sudden ; its motions unknown ; 
which redoubled or crushed his faculties, prostrated or 
transported him, bathed him in the sweat of anguish, 
ravished him with trances of joy ; and which by its force, 

1 The first part of this allegory was published in 1678, having been 
written by Bunyan while in Bedford gaol. The second part was published 
in 1684. ^""^ Biographical Note, see page 215. 

156 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 157 

strangeness, independence, impressed upon him the pres- 
ence and the action of a foreign and superior master. . . . 
He was born in the lowest and most despised rank, a 
tinker's son, himself a wandering tinker, with a wife as 
poor as himself, so that they had not a spoon or a dish 
between them. He had been taught in childhood to 
read and write, but he had since " almost wholly lost 
what he had learned." Education diverts and disciplines 
a man ; fills him with varied and rational ideas ; prevents 
him from sinking into monomania or being excited by 
transport ; gives him determinate thoughts instead of 
eccentric fancies, pliable opinions for fixed convictions ; 
replaces impetuous images by calm reasonings, sudden 
resolves by results of reflection ; furnishes us with the 
wisdom and ideas of others ; gives us conscience and 
self-command. Suppress this reason and this discipline, 
and consider the poor workingman at his work ; his 
head works while his hands work — not ably, with 
methods acquired from any logic he might have mus- 
tered, but with dark emotions, beneath a disorderly flow 
of confused images. Morning and evening, the ham- 
mer which he uses in his trade drives in with its deafen- 
ing sounds the same thought, perpetually returning and 
self-communing. A troubled, obstinate vision floats 
before him in the brightness of the hammered and 
quivering metal. In the red furnace where the iron is 
bubbling, in the clang of the hammered brass, in the 
black corners where the damp shadow creeps, he sees 
the flame and darkness of hell, and hears the rattling 
of eternal chains. Next day he sees the same image; 
the day after, the whole week, month, year. His brow 
wrinkles, his eyes grow sad, and his wife hears him 
groan in the night-time. She remembers that she has 



158 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

two volumes in an old bag, " The Plain Man's Pathway 
to Heaven " and " The Practice of Piety " ; he spells 
them out to console himself ; and the printed thoughts, 
already sublime in themselves, made more so by the 
slowness with which they are read, sink like an oracle 
into his subdued faith. During his long solitary wan- 
derings over wild heaths, in cursed and haunted bogs, 
always abandoned to his own thoughts, the inevitable 
idea pursues him. These neglected roads where he 
sticks in the mud, these sluggish rivers which he crosses 
on the cranky ferryboat, these threatening whispers of 
the woods at night, when in perilous places the livid 
moon shadows out ambushed forms — all that he sees 
and hears falls into an involuntary poem around the one 
absorbing idea ; thus it changes into a vast body of 
visible legends, and multiplies its power as it multiplies 
its details. Having become a dissenter, Bunyan is shut 
up for twelve years, having no other amusement but 
the " Book of Martyrs " and the Bible, in one of those 
infectious prisons where the Puritans rotted under the 
Restoration. There he is, still alone, thrown back upon 
himself by the monotony of his dungeon, besieged by 
the terrors of the Old Testament, by the vengeful out- 
pourings of the prophets, by the thunder-striking words 
of Paul, by the spectacle of trances and of martyrs, face 
to face with God, now in despair, now consoled, troubled 
with involuntary images and unlooked-for emotions, see- 
ing alternately devil and angels, the actor and the wit- 
ness of an internal drama, whose vicissitudes he is able 
to relate. He writes them — it is his book. You see 
now the condition of this inflamed brain. Poor in ideas, 
full of images, given up to a fixed and single thought, 
plunged into this thought by his mechanical pursuit, by 



THE PILGRhM'S PROGRESS. 159 

his prison and his readings, by his knowledge and his 
ignorance, circumstances, like nature, make him a vis- 
ionary and an artist, furnish him with supernatural im- 
pressions and sensible images, teaching him the history 
of grace and the means of expressing it. 

" The Pilgrim's Progress " is a manual of devotion for 
the use of simple folk, while it is an allegorical poem full 
of grace. In it we hear a man of the people speaking 
to the people, who would render intelligible to all the 
terrible doctrine of damnation and salvation. . . . Alle- 
gory, the most artificial kind, is natural to Bunyan. If 
he employs it throughout, it is from necessity, not choice. 
As children, countrymen, and all uncultivated minds, he 
transforms arguments into parables ; he only grasps 
truth when it is made simple by images ; abstract terms 
elude him ; he must touch forms, and contemplate 
colors. His repetitions, embarrassed phrases, familiar 
comparisons, his frank style, whose awkwardness recalls 
the childish periods of Herodotus, and whose light- 
heartedness recalls tales for children, prove that if his 
work is allegorical, it is so in order that it may be 
intelligible, and that Bunyan is a poet because he is 
a child. 

Bunyan has the freedom, the tone, the ease, and the 
clearness of Homer. He is as close to Homer as an 
Anabaptist tinker could be to an heroic singer, a creator 
of gods. I err ; he is nearer : before the sentiment of 
the sublime, inequalities are levelled. The depth of 
emotion raises peasant and poet to the same emmence ; 
and here, also, allegory stands the peasant instead. It 
alone, in the absence of ecstasy, can paint heaven ; for it 
does not pretend to paint it. Expressing it by a figure, 
it declares it invisible as a glowing sun at which we can- 



160 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

not look full, and whose image we observe in a mirror 
or a stream. The ineffable world thus retains all its 
mystery. Warned by the allegory, we imagine splen- 
dors beyond all which it presents to us. 

He was imprisoned for twelve years and a half ; in his 
dungeon he made wire-snares to support himself and his 
family. He died at the age of sixty in 1688. 



THE STORY OF "THE PILGRIM'S 
PROGRESS." 

BY JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE. 

"The Pilgrim's Progress" was written before the 
" Holy War," while Bunyan was still in prison at Bed- 
ford, and was but half conscious of the gifts which he 
possessed. It was written for his own entertainment, 
and therefore without the thought — so fatal in its effects 
and so hard to be resisted — of what the world would say 
about it. It was written in compulsory quiet, when he 
was comparatively unexcited by the effort of perpetual 
preaching, and the shapes of things could present them- 
selves to him as they really were, undistorted by theo- 
logical narrowness. It is the same story which he has 
told of himself in " Grace Abounding," thrown out into 
an objective form. 

He tells us himself, in a metrical introduction, the 
circumstances under which it was composed : — 

When at the first I took my pen in hand, 
Thus for to write, I did not understand 
That I at all should make a little book 
In such a mode. Nay, I had undertook 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 161 

To make another, which when ahuost done, 
Before I was aware I this begun. 

And thus it was. — I writing of the way 

And race of saints in this our Gospel day, 

Fell suddenly into an Allegory 

About the journey and the way to glory 

In more than twenty things which I set down. 

This done, I twenty more had in my crown, 

And these again began to multiply. 

Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly. 

Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast 

I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last 

Should prove ad Infinitum, and eat out 

The book that I already am about. 

Well, so I did ; but yet I did not think 
To show to all the world my pen and ink 
In such a mode. I only thought to make, 
I knew not what. Nor did I undertake 
Merely to please my neighbors ; no, not I. 
I did it mine own self to gratify. 

Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 

In this my scribble ; nor did I intend 

But to divert myself in doing this 

From worser thoughts which make me do amiss. 

Thus I set pen to paper with delight. 

And quickly had my thoughts in black and white ; 

For having now my method by the end, 

Still as I pulled it came ; and so I penned 

It down : until at last it came to be 

For length and breadth the bigness which you see. 

Well, when I had thus put my ends together, 

I showed them others, that I might see whether 

They would condemn them or them justify. 

And some said. Let them live ; some, Let them die ; 

Some said, John, print it ; others said. Not so ; 

Some said it might do good ; others said, No, 



162 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Now was I in a strait, and did not see 
Which was the best thing to be done by me. 
At last I thought, since you are thus divided, 
I print it will ; and so the case decided. 

The difference of opinion among Bunyan's friends is 
easily explicable. The allegoric representation of relig- 
ion to men profoundly convinced of the truth of it might 
naturally seem light and fantastic, and the breadth of 
the conception could not please the narrow sectarians 
who knew no salvation beyond the lines of their peculiar 
formulas. The Pilgrim though in a Puritan dress is a 
genuine man. His experience is so truly human experi- 
ence, that Christians of every persuasion can identify 
themselves with him ; and even those who regard Chris- 
tianity itself as but a natural outgrowth of the con- 
science and intellect, and yet desire to live nobly and 
make the best of themselves, can recognize familiar foot- 
prints in every step of Christian's journey. Thus " The 
Pilgrim's Progress " is a book, which, when once read, 
can never be forgotten. We too, every one of us, are 
pilgrims on the same road, and images and illustrations 
come back upon us from so faithful an itinerary, as 
we encounter similar trials, and learn for ourselves the 
accuracy with which Bunyan has described them. There 
is no occasion to follow a story minutely which memory 
can so universally supply. I need pause only at a few 
spots which are too charming to pass by. 

How picturesque and vivid are the opening lines : — 

" As I walked through the wilderness of this world I 

lighted on a certain place where there was a den.^ and 

I laid me down in that place to sleep, and as I slept I 

dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold I saw a man, 

1 The Bedford Prison. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 163 

a man clothed in rags, standing with his face from his 
own home with a book in his hand, and a great burden 
upon his back." 

The man is Bunyan himself as we see him in " Grace 
Abounding." His sins are the burden upon his back. 
He reads his book and weeps and trembles. He speaks 
of his fears to his friends and kindred. They think 
"some frenzy distemper has got into his head." He 
meets a man in the fields whose name is Evangelist. 
Evangelist tells him to flee from the City of Destruction. 
He shows him the way by which he must go, and points 
to the far-off light which will guide him to the wicket- 
gate. He sets off, and his neighbors of course think 
him mad. The world always thinks men mad who turn 
their backs upon it. Obstinate and Pliable (how well 
we know them both !) follow to persuade him to return. 
Obstinate talks practical common sense to him, and as 
it has no effect, gives him up as a fantastical fellow. 
Pliable thinks that there may be something in what he 
says, and offers to go with him. 

Before they can reach the wicket-gate, they fall into 
a "miry slough." Who does not know the miry slough 
too.-* When a man begins for the first time to think 
seriously about himself, the first thing that rises before 
him is a consciousness of his miserable past life. Amend- 
ment seems to be desperate. He thinks it is too late 
to change for any useful purpose, and he sinks into de- 
spondency. 

Pliable finding the road disagreeable has soon had 
enough of it. He scrambles out of the slough " on the 
side which was nearest to his own house" and goes 
home. Christian struggling manfully is lifted out "by 
a man whose name was Help," and goes on upon his 



164 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

journey, but the burden on his back weighs him down. 
He falls in with Mr. Worldly Wiseman who lives in the 
town of Carnal Policy. Mr. Worldly Wiseman, who 
looks like a gentleman, advises him not to think about 
his sins. If he has done wrong he must alter his life 
and do better for the future. He directs him to a vil- 
lage called Morality, where he will find a gentleman well 
known in those parts, who will take his burden off — 
Mr. Legality. Either Mr. Legality will do it himself, or 
it can be done equally well by his pretty young son, Mr. 
Civility. 

The way to a better life does not lie in a change of 
outward action, but in a changed heart. Legality soon 
passes into civility, according to the saying that vice loses 
half its evil when it loses its grossness. Bunyan would 
have said that the poison was the more deadly from being 
concealed. Christian after a near escape is set straight 
again. He is admitted into the wicket-gate and is 
directed how he is to go forward. He asks if he may 
not lose his way. He is answered Yes, " There are many 
ways (that) butt down on this and they are crooked and 
wide. But thus thou mayest know the right from the 
wrong, that only being straight and narrow." 

Good people often suppose that when a man is once 
"converted," as they call it, and has entered on a religious 
life, he will find everything made easy. He has turned 
to Christ, and in Christ he will find rest and pleasantness. 
The path of duty is unfortunately not strewed with 
flowers at all. The primrose road leads to the other 
place. As on all other journeys, to persevere is the 
difificulty. The pilgrim's feet grow sorer the longer he 
walks. His lower nature follows him like a shadow 
watching opportunities to trip him up, and ever appear- 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 165 

ing in some new disguise. In the way of comfort he 
is allowed only certain resting-places, quiet intervals of 
peace when temptation is absent, and the mind can gather 
strength and encouragement from a sense of the progress 
which it has made. 

The first of these resting-places at which Christian 
arrives is the " Interpreter's House." This means, I 
conceive, that he arrives at a right understanding of the 
objects of human desire as they really are. He learns to 
distinguish there between passion and patience, passion 
which demands immediate gratification, and patience 
which can wait and hope. He sees the action of grace 
on the heart, and sees the Devil laboring to put it out. 
He sees the man in the iron cage who was once a flour- 
ishing professor, but had been tempted away by pleasure 
and had sinned against light. He hears a dream too — 
one of Bunyan's own early dreams, but related as by 
another person. The Pilgrim himself was beyond the 
reach of such uneasy visions. But it shows how pro- 
foundly the terrible side of Christianity had seized on 
Bunyan's imagination and how little he was able to 
forget it. 

" This night as I was in my sleep I dreamed, and 
behold the heavens grew exceeding black: also it thun- 
dered and lightened in most fearful wi-se, that it put me 
into an agony ; so I looked up in my dream and saw the 
clouds rack at an unusual rate, upon which I heard a 
great sound of a trumpet, and saw also a man sit upon a 
cloud attended with the thousands of heaven. They 
were all in a flaming fire, and the heaven also was in a 
burning flame. I heard then a voice, saying, Arise ye 
dead and come to judgment; and with that the rocks 
rent, the graves opened, and the dead that were therein 



166 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

came forth. Some of them were exceeding glad and 
looked upward, some sought to hide themselves under 
the mountains. Then I saw the man that sate upon the 
cloud open the book and bid the world draw near. Yet 
there wa.s, by reason of a fierce flame that issued out and 
came from before him, a convenient distance betwixt 
him and them, as betwixt the judge and the prisoners at 
the bar. I heard it also proclaimed to them that attended 
on the man that sate on the cloud, Gather together the 
tares, the chaff, and the stubble, and cast them into the 
burning lake. And with that the bottomless pit opened 
just whereabouts I stood, out of the mouth of which 
there came in an abundant manner smoke and coals of 
fire with hideous noises. It was also said to the same 
persons. Gather the wheat into my garner. And with 
that I saw many catched up and carried away into the 
clouds, but I was left behind. I also sought to hide 
myself, but I could not, for the man that sate upon the 
cloud still kept his eye upon me. My sins also came into 
my mind, and my conscience did accuse me on every 
side. I thought the day of judgment was come and I 
was not ready for it." 

The resting time comes to an end. The Pilgrim 
gathers himself together, and proceeds upon his way. 
He is not to be burdened forever with the sense of his 
sins. It fell from off his back at the sight of the cross. 
Three shining ones appear and tell him that his sins are 
forgiven ; they take off his rags and provide him with a 
new suit. 

He now encounters fellow-travellers ; and the serious- 
ness of the story is relieved by adventures and humorous 
conversations. At the bottom of a hill he finds three 
gentlemen asleep, "a little out of the way." These were 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 167 

Simple, Sloth, and Presumption. He tries to rouse 
them, but does not succeed. Presently two others are 
seen tumbling over the wall into the Narrow Way. They 
are come from the land of Vain Glory, and are called 
Formalist and Hypocrisy. Like the Pilgrim, they are 
bound for Mount Zion ; but the wicket-gate was "too far 
about," and they had come by a short cut. " They had 
custom for it a thousand years and more ; and custom 
being of so long standing would be admitted legal by any 
impartial judge." Whether right or wrong they insist 
that they are in the way, and no more is to be said. 
But they are soon out of it again. The hill is the hill 
Difficulty, and the road parts into three. Two go round 
the bottom, as modern engineers would make them. The 
other rises straight over the top. Formalist and Hypoc- 
risy choose the easy ways, and are heard of no more. 
Pilgrim climbs up, and after various accidents comes to 
the second resting-place, the Palace Beautiful, built by 
the Lord of the Hill to entertain strangers in. The rec- 
ollections of Sir Bevis of Southampton furnished Bunyan 
with his framework. Lions guard the court. Fair ladies 
entertain him as if he had been a knight-errant in quest 
of the Holy Grail. The ladies, of course, are all that they 
ought to be: the Christian graces — Discretion, Pru- 
dence, Piety, and Charity. He tells them his history. 
They ask him if he has brought none of his old belong- 
ings with him. He answers yes ; but greatly against 
his will: his inward and carnal cogitations, with which 
his countrymen, as well as himself, were so much de- 
lighted. Only in golden hours they seemed to leave 
him. Who cannot recognize the truth of this .'' Who 
has not groaned over the follies and idiotcies that cling 
to us like the doggerel verses that hang about our 



168 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

memories ? The room in which he sleeps is called 
Peace. In the morning he is shown the curiosities, 
chiefly Scripture relics, in the palace. He is taken to 
the roof, from which he sees far off the outlines of the 
Delectable Mountains. Next, the ladies carry him to 
the armory, and equip him for the dangers which lie 
next before him. He is to go down into the Valley of 
Humiliation, and pass thence through the Valley of the 
Shadow of Death. 

Bunyan here shows the finest insight. To some pil- 
grims the Valley of Humiliation was the pleasantest 
part of the journey. Mr. Feeblemind, in the second 
part of the story, was happier there than anywhere. 
But Christian is Bunyan himself; and Bunyan had a stiff 
self-willed nature, and had found his spirit the most 
stubborn part of him. Down here he encounters 
Apollyon himself, " straddling quite over the whole 
breadth of the way" — a more effective devil than the 
Diabolus of the " Holy War." He fights him for half 
a day, is sorely wounded in head, hand, and foot, and 
has a near escape of being pressed to death. Apollyon 
spreads his bat wings at last, and flies away ; but there 
remains the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the dark 
scene of lonely horrors. Two men meet him on the 
borders of it. They tell him the valley is full of spec- 
tres; and they warn him, if he values his life, to go back. 
Well Bunyan knew these spectres, those dreary misgiv- 
ings that he was toiling after an illusion; that "good" 
and "evil" had no meaning except on earth, and for 
man's convenience ; and that he himself was but a creature 
of a day, allowed a brief season of what is called exist- 
ence, and then to pass away and be as if he had never 
been. It speaks well for Bunyan's honesty that this 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 169 

State of mind which religious people generally call 
wicked is placed directly in his Pilgrim's path, and he is 
compelled to pass through it. In the valley, close at the 
road-side, there is a pit, which is one of the mouths of 
hell. A wicked spirit whispers to him as he goes by. 
He imagines that the thought had proceeded out of his 
own heart. 

The sky clears when he is beyond the gorge. Out- 
side it are the caves where the two giants. Pope and 
Pagan, had lived in old times. Pagan had been dead 
many a day. Pope was still living, " but he had grown 
so crazy and stiff in his joints that he could now do little 
more than sit in his cave's mouth, grinning at pilgrims 
as they went by, and biting his nails because he could 
not come at them." 

Here he overtakes " Faithful," a true pilgrim like 
himself. Faithful had met with trials ; but his trials 
have not resembled Christian's. Christian's difficulties, 
like Banyan's own, had been all spiritual. " The lusts 
of the flesh " seem to have had no attraction for him. 
Faithful had been assailed by "Wanton," and had been 
obliged to fly from her. He had not fallen into the 
slough ; but he had been beguiled by the Old Adam, who 
offered him one of his daughters for a wife. In the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death he had found sunshine all 
the way. Doubts about the truth of religion had never 
troubled the simpler nature of the good Faithful. 

Mr. Talkative is the next character introduced, and is 
one of the best figures which Bunyan has drawn ; Mr. 
Talkative, with Scripture at his fingers' ends, and per- 
fect master of all doctrinal subtleties, ready "to talk of 
things heavenly or things earthly, things moral or things 
evangelical, things sacred or things profane, things past 



170 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

or things to come, things foreign or things at home, 
things essential or things circumstantial, provided that 
all be done to our profit." 

This gentleman would have taken in Faithful, who 
was awed by such a rush of volubility. Christian has 
seen him before, knows him well, and can describe him. 
" He is the son of one Saywell. He dwelt in Prating 
Row. He is for any company and for any talk. As he 
talks now with you so will he talk when on the ale- 
bench. The more drink he hath in his crown, the more 
of these things he hath in his mouth. Religion hath no 
place in his heart, or home, or conversation ; all that he 
hath lieth in his tongue, and his religion is to make a 
noise therewith." 

The elect, though they have ceased to be of the world, 
are still in the world. They are still part of the gen- 
eral community of mankind, and share, whether they 
like it or not, in the ordinary activities of life. Faithful 
and Christian have left the City of Destruction. They 
have shaken off from themselves all liking for idle 
pleasures. They nevertheless find themselves in their 
journey at Vanity Fair, " a fair set up by Beelzebub 
5000 years ago." Trade of all sorts went on at Vanity 
Fair, and people of all sorts were collected there : 
cheats, fools, asses, knaves, and rogues. Some were 
honest, many were dishonest ; some lived peaceably and 
uprightly, others robbed, murdered, seduced their neigh- 
bors' wives, or lied and perjured themselves. Vanity 
Fair was European society as it existed in the days of 
Charles H. Each nation was represented. There was 
British Row, French Row, and Spanish Row. " The 
wares of Rome and her merchandise were greatly pro- 
moted at the fair, only the English nation with some 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 171 

Others had taken a dislike to them." The pilgrims ap- 
pear on the scene as the Apostles appeared at Antioch 
and Rome, to tell the people that there were things in 
the world of more consequence than money and pleasure. 
The better sort listen. Public opinion in general calls 
them fools and Bedlamites. The fair becomes excited, 
disturbances are feared, and the authorities send to 
make inquiries. Authorities naturally disapprove of 
novelties ; and Christian and Faithful are arrested, 
beaten, and put in the cage. Their friends insist that 
they have done no. harm, that they are innocent stran- 
gers teaching only what will make men better instead 
of worse. A riot follows. The authorities determine 
to make an example of them, and the result is the ever- 
memorable trial of the two pilgrims. They are brought 
in irons before my Lord Hategood, charged with "dis- 
turbing the trade of the town, creating divisions, and 
making converts to their opinions in contempt of the 
law of the Prince." 

Faithful begins with an admission which would have 
made it difficult for Hategood to let him off, for he says 
that the Prince they talked of, being Beelzebub, the 
enemy of the Lord, he defied him and all his angels. 
Three witnessd^ were then called : Envy, Superstition, 
and Pickthank. 

Envy says that Faithful regards neither prince nor 
people, but does all he can to possess men with disloyal 
notions, which he call principles of faith and holiness. 

Superstition says that he knows little of him, but has 
heard him say that " our religion is naught, and such by 
which no man can please God, from which saying his 
Lordship well knows will follow that we are yet in our 
sins, and finally shall be damned." 



172 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Pickthank deposes that he has heard Faithful rail on 
Beelzebub, and speak contemptuously of his honorable 
friends my Lord Old Man, my Lord Carnal Delight, my 
Lord Luxurious, my Lord Desire of Vain Glory, my 
Lord Lechery, Sir Having Greedy, and the rest of the 
nobility, besides which he has railed against his Lordship 
on the bench himself, calling him an ungodly villain. 

The evidence was perfectly true, and the prisoner, 
when called on for his defence, confirmed it. He says 
(avoiding the terms in which he was said to rail and the 
like) that " the Prince of the town, with all the rabble- 
ment of his attendants by this gentleman named, are 
more fit for a being in hell than in this town or country." 

Lord Hategood has been supposed to have been drawn 
from one or other of Charles H.'s judges, perhaps from 
either Twisden or Chester, who had the conversation 
with Bunyan's wife. But it is difficult to see how either 
one or the other could have acted otherwise than they 
did. Faithful might be quite right. Hell might be and 
probably was the proper place for Beelzebub, and for 
all persons holding authority under him. But as a mat- 
ter of fact, a form of society did for some purpose or 
other exist, and had been permitted to exist for 5000 
years, owning Beelzebub's sovereignty. "It must defend 
itself, or must cease to be, and it could not be expected 
to make no effort at self-preservation. Faithful had 
come to Vanity Fair to make a revolution — a revolu- 
tion extremely desirable, but one which it was unreason- 
able to expect the constituted authorities to allow to go 
forward. It was not a case of false witness. A pris- 
oner who admits that he has taught the people that 
their Prince ought to be in hell, and has called the 
judge an ungodly villain, cannot complain if he is ac- 
cused of preaching rebellion. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 173 

Lord Hategood charges the jury, and explains the 
law. "There was an Act made," he says, "in the days 
of Pharaoh the Great, servant to our Prince, that lest 
those of a contrary religion should multiply and grow 
too strong fo'r him, their males should be thrown into 
the river. There was also an Act made in the days of 
Nebuchadnezzar the Great, that whoever would not fall 
down and worship his golden image should be thrown 
into a fiery furnace. There was also an Act made in the 
days of Darius that whoso for some time called upon 
any God but him should be cast into the lion's den. 
Now the substance of these laws this rebel hath broken, 
not only in thought (which is not to be borne), but also 
in word and deed, which must, therefore, be intolerable. 
For that of Pharaoh, his law was made upon a supposi- 
tion to prevent mischief, no crime being yet apparent. 
For the second and third you see his disputations against 
our religion, and for the treason he hath confessed he 
deserveth to die the death." 

" Then went the jury out, whose names were Mr. 
Blindman, Mr. Nogood, Mr. MaHce, Mr. Lovelust, Mr. 
Liveloose, Mr. Heady, Mr. Highmind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. 
Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. Hatelight, and Mr. Implacable, 
who every one gave in his private verdict against him 
among themselves, and afterwards unanimously con- 
cluded to bring him in guilty before the judge. And 
first, Mr. Blindman, the foreman, said : I see clearly 
that this man is a heretic. Then said Mr. Nogood, 
Away with such a fellow from the earth. Aye, said 
Mr. MaHce, I hate the very looks of him. Then said 
Mr. Lovelust, I could never endure him. Nor I, said Mr. 
Liveloose, for he would always be condemning my way. 
Hang him, hang him, said Mr. Heady. A sorry scrub, 



174 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

said Mr. Highmind. My heart riseth against him, said 
Mr. Enmity. He is a rogue, said Mr. Liar. Hanging 
is too good for him, said Mr. Cruelty. Let us despatch 
him out of the way, said Mr. Hatelight. Then, said 
Mr. Implacable, might I have all the world given me, 
I could not be reconciled to him ; therefore, let us forth- 
with bring him in guilty of death." 

Abstract qualities of character were never clothed in 
more substantial flesh and blood than these jurymen. 
Spenser's knights in the " Fairy Queen " are mere 
shadows to them. Faithful was, of course, condemned, 
scourged, buffeted, lanced in his feet with knives, stoned, 
stabbed, at last burned, and spared the pain of travelling 
further on the narrow road. A chariot and horses were 
waiting to bear him through the clouds, the nearest way 
to the Celestial Gate. Christian, who it seems had 
been remanded, contrives to escape. He is joined by 
Hopeful, a convert whom he has made in the town, and 
they pursue their journey in company. A second person 
is useful dramatically, and Hopeful takes Faithful's 
place. Leaving Vanity Fair, they are again on the 
Pilgrim's road. There they encounter Mr. Bye-ends. 
Bye-ends comes from the town of Plain-Speech, where 
he has a large kindred. My Lord Turnabout, my Lord 
Timeserver, Mr. Facing-both-ways, Mr. Two Tongues, 
the parson of the parish. Bye-ends himself was married 
to a daughter of Lady Feignings. Bunyan's invention 
in such things was inexhaustible. 

They have more trials of the old kind with which 
Bunyan himself was so familiar. They cross the River 
of Life and even drink at it, yet for all this and directly 
after, they stray into Bye Path Meadow. They lose 
themselves in the grounds of Doubting Castle, and are 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 175 

seized upon by Giant Despair — still a prey to doubt — 
still uncertain whether religion be not a dream, even 
after they have fought with wild beasts in Vanity Fair 
and have drunk of the water of life. Nowhere does 
Bunyan show better how well he knew the heart of man. 
Christian even thinks of killing himself in the dungeons 
of Doubting Castle. Hopeful cheers him up, they break 
their prison, recover the road again,' and arrive at the 
Delectable Mountains in Emmanuel's own land. There 
it might be thought the danger would be over, but it is 
not so. Even in Emmanuel's land there is a door in 
the side of a hill which is a byway to hell, and beyond 
Emmanuel's Land is the country of conceit, a new and 
special temptation for those who think that they are 
near salvation. Here they encounter "a brisk lad of the 
neighborhood," needed soon after for a particular pur- 
pose, who is a good liver, prays devoutly, fasts regularly, 
pays tithes punctually, and hopes that every one will get 
to heaven by the religion which he professes, provided 
he fears God and tries to do his duty. The name of 
this brisk lad is Ignorance. Leaving him, they are 
caught in a net by Flatterer, and are smartly whipped 
by "a shining one," who lets them out of it. False ideas 
and vanity lay them open once more to their most dan- 
gerous enemy. They meet a man coming towards them 
from the direction in which they are going. They tell 
him that they are on the way to Mount Zion. He 
laughs scornfully and answers : — 

"There is no such place as you dream of in all the 
world. When I was at home in my own country, I 
heard as you now affirm, and from hearing I went out 
to see ; and have been seeking this city these twenty 
years, but I find no more of it than I did the first day I 



176 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

went out. I am going back again and will seek to 
refresh myself with things which I then cast away for 
hopes of that which I now see is not." 

Still uncertainty — even on the verge of eternity — 
strange, doubtless, and reprehensible to Right Reverend 
persons, who never "cast away" anything; to whom a 
religious profession has been a highway to pleasure and 
preferment, who live in the comfortable assurance that 
as it has been in this life so it will be in the next. Only 
moral obliquity of the worst kind could admit a doubt 
about so excellent a religion as this. But Bunyan was 
not a Right Reverend. Christianity had brought him 
no palaces and large revenues, and a place among the 
great of the land. If Christianity was not true his whole 
life was folly and illusion, and the dread that it might 
be so clung to his belief like its shadow. 

The way was still long. The pilgrims reach the 
Enchanted Ground and are drowsy and tired. Igno- 
rance comes up with them again. He talks much about 
himself. He tells them of the good motives that come 
into his mind and comfort him as he walks. His heart 
tells him that he has left all for God and Heaven. His 
belief and his life agree together, and he is humbly 
confident that his hopes are well-founded. When they 
speak to him of Salvation by Faith and Conviction by 
Sin, he cannot understand what they mean. As he 
leaves them they are reminded of one Temporary, " once 
a forward man in religion." Temporary dwelt in Grace- 
less, "a town two miles from Honesty, next door to one 
Turnback." He "was going on pilgrimage, but became 
acquainted with one Save Self, and was never more 
heard of." 

These figures all mean something. They correspond 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 177 

in part to Bunyan's own recollection of his own trials. 
Partly he is indulging his humor by describing others 
who were more astray than he was. It was over at last : 
the pilgrims arrive at the land of Beulah, the beautiful 
sunset after the storms were all past. Doubting Castle 
can be seen no more, and between them and their last 
rest there remains only the deep river over which there 
is no bridge, the river of Death. On the hill beyond the 
waters glitter the towers and domes of the Celestial 
City ; but through the river they must first pass, and 
they find it deeper or shallower according to the strength 
of their faith. They go through, Hopeful feeling the 
bottom all along ; Christian still in character, not with- 
out some horror, and frightened by hobgoblins. On the 
other side they are received by angels, and are carried 
to their final home, to live forever in the Prince's 
presence. Then follows the only passage which the 
present writer reads with regret in this admirable book. 
It is given to the self-righteous Ignorance who, doubt- 
less, had been provoking with " his good motives that 
comforted him as he walked ;" but Bunyan's zeal might 
have been satisfied by inflicting a lighter chastisement 
upon him. He comes up to the river. He crosses 
without the difficulties which attended Christian and 
Hopeful. " It happened that there was then at the place 
one Vain Hope, a Ferryman, that with his boat " (some 
viaticum or priestly absolution) "helped him over." He 
ascends the hill, and approaches the city, but no angels 
are in attendance, " neither did any man meet him with 
the least encouragement." Above the gate there was 
the verse written — " Blessed are they that do His com- 
mandments that they may have right to the Tree of 
Life, and may enter in through the gate into the city." 



178 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Bunyan, who believed that no man could keep the com- 
mandments, and had no right to anything but damnation, 
must have introduced the words as if to mock the un- 
happy wretch who, after all, had tried to keep the 
commandments as well as most people, and was seeking 
admittance, with a conscience moderately at ease. " He 
was asked by the men that looked over the gate — 
Whence come you and what would you have ? " He 
answered, " I have eaten and drunk in the presence of 
the King, and he has taught in our street." Then they 
asked him for his certificate, that they might go in and 
show it to the king. So he fumbled in his bosom for 
one and found none. Then said they, " Have you none .'' " 
But the man answered never a word. So they told the 
king but he would not come down to see him, but com- 
manded the two shining ones that conducted Christian 
and Hopeful to the city to go out and take Ignorance 
and bind him hand and foot, and hav^e him away. Then 
they took him up and carried him through the air to the 
door in the side of the hill, and put him in there. " Then," 
so Bunyan ends, " I saw that there was a way to Hell 
even from the gates of Heaven, as well as from the 
City of Destruction ; so I awoke, and behold it was a 
dream ! " 

Poor Ignorance! Hell — such a place as Bunyan 
imagined Hell to be — was a hard fate for a miserable 
mortal who had failed to comprehend the true conditions 
of justification. We are not told that he was a vain 
boaster. He could not have advanced so near to the 
door of Heaven if he had not been really a decent man, 
though vain and silly. Behold, it was a dream ! The 
dreams which come to us when sleep is deep on the soul 
may be sent direct from some revealing power. When 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 179 

we are near waking, the supernatural insight may be 
refracted through human theory. 

Charity will hope that the vision of Ignorance cast 
bound into the mouth of Hell, when he was knocking 
at the gate of Heaven, came through Homer's ivory 
gate, and that Bunyan here was a mistaken interpreter 
of the spiritual tradition. The fierce inferences of 
Puritan theology are no longer credible to us ; yet nd'bler 
men than the Puritans are not to be found in all English 
history. It will be well if the clearer sight which enables 
us to detect their errors enables us also to recognize 
their excellence. 

The second part of the " Pilgrim's Progress," like m'ost 
second parts, is but a feeble reverberation of the first. 
It is comforting, no doubt, to know that Christian's wife 
and children were not left to their fate in the City of 
Destruction. But Bunyan had given us all that he had 
to tell about the journey, and we do not need a repeti- 
tion of it. Of course there are touches of genius. No 
writing of Bunyan's could be wholly without it. But 
the rough simplicity is gone, and instead of it there is a 
tone of sentiment which is almost mawkish. Giants, 
dragons, and angelic champions carry us into a spurious 
fairy land, where the knight-errant is a preacher in 
disguise. Fair ladies and love matches, however de- 
corously chastened, suit ill with the sternness of the 
mortal conflict between the soul and sin. Christiana 
and her children are tolerated for the pilgrim's sake to 
whom they belong. Had they appealed to our interest 
on their own merits, we would have been contented to 
wish them well through their difficulties, and to trouble 
ourselves no further about them. 



180 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 



EXTRACTS FROM THE "PILGRIM'S 
PROGRESS." 

THE BEGINNING OF THE JOURNEY. 

As I walk'd through the wilderness of this world, I 
ligl»ted on a certain place where was a Den, and I 
laid me down in that place to sleep ; and as I slept, 
I dreamed a Dream, I dreamed, and behold I saw a 
Man cloathed with Rags, standing in a certain place, 
with his face from his own house, a Book in his hand, 
and a great Burden upon his back.^ I looked, and saw 
him open the Book, and read therein ; and as he read, 
he wept and trembled ; and not being able longer to 
contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying 
What shall I do n 

In this plight thereof he went home, and refrained 
himself as long as he could, that his Wife and Children 
should not perceive his distress, but he could not be 
silent long, because that his trouble increased : Where- 
fore at length he brake his mind to his Wife and Chil- 
dren ; and thus he began to talk to them : O my dear 
Wife, said he, and y on the CJiildren of my bowels, I your 
dear friend am in myself undone by reason of a Burden 
that lieth hard upo?i me ; moreover, I am for certain in- 
formed that this our City will be burned with fire from 
Heaven ; in which fearful overthrow, both myself, with 
thee my Wife, and you my sweet Babes, shall miserably 
come to mine, except {the ivhich yet I see 7iot) some tvay 
of escape can be found, whereby we may be delivered. 



^ Isa. Ixiv. 6; Luke xiv. 33; Ps. xxxviii. 4; Hab. ii. 2; Acts xvi. 31. 
2 Acts ii. 37. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 181 

At this his Relations were sore amazed ; not for that 
they believed that what he had said to them was true, 
but because they thought that some frenzy distemper 
had got into his head ; therefore, it drawing towards 
night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his 
brains, with all haste they got him to bed : But the 
night was as troublesome to him as the day ; wherefore, 
instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. 
So, when the morning was come, they would know 
how he did ; He told them, Worse and worse: he also 
set to talking to them again, but they began to be 
hardened ; they also thought to drive away his distem- 
per by harsh and surly carriages to him ; sometimes 
they would deride, sometimes they would chide, and 
sometimes they would quite neglect him : Wherefore he 
began to retire himself to his chamber, to pray for and 
pity them, and also to condole his own misery ; he 
would also walk solitarily in the fields, sometimes read- 
ing, and sometimes praying : and thus for some days he 
spent his time. 

Now, I saw upon a time, when he was walking in the 
fields, that he was, as he was wont, reading in his Book, 
and greatly distressed in his mind ; and as he read, he 
burst out, as he had done before, crying. What shall I 
do to be saved ? ^ 

I saw also that he looked this way and that way, as if 
he would run ; yet he stood still, because, as I per- 
ceived, he could not tell which way to go. I looked 
then, and saw a man named Evangelist, coming to him, 
and asked. Wherefore dost thou cry ? 

He answered. Sir, I perceive by the Book in my 
hand, that I am condemned to die, and after that to 

1 Acts xvi. 30. 



182 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

come to Judgment, and I find that I am not willing to 
do the first, nor able to do the second.^ 

Then said Evangelist, Why not willing to die, since 
this life is attended with so many evils ? The Man 
answered, Because I fear that this burden that is upon 
my back will sink me lower than the Grave, and I shall 
fall into Tophet? And, Sir, if I be not fit to go to 
Prison, I am not fit to go to Judgment, and from thence 
to Execution ; and the thoughts of these things make 
me cry. 

Then said Evangelist, If this be thy condition, why 
standest thou still ? He answered. Because I know not 
whither to go. Then he gave him a ParcJinioit-roll, and 
there was written within. Fly from the wrath to come? 

The Man therefore read it, and looking upon Evan- 
gelist very carefully, said. Whither must I fly } Then 
said Evangelist, pointing with his finger over a very 
wide field. Do you see yonder Wicket-gate ?^ The Man 
said. No. Then said the other, Do you see yonder 
shining Light .-' He said, I think I do. Then said 
Evangelist, Keep that Light in your eye, and go up 
directly thereto : so shalt thou see the Gate ; at which, 
when thou knockest, it shall be told thee what thou 
shalt do. 

So I saw in my Dream that the Man began to run. 

Now he had not run far from his own door, but his 
Wife and Children, perceiving it, began to cry after 



Christian no sooner leaves the World but meets 
Evangelist, who lovingly him greets 
With tidings of another ; and doth shew 
Him how to mount to that from this below. 



1 Heb. ix. 27; Job xvi. 21, 22; Ezek. xxii. 14. ^ iga. xxx. 33. 

3 Matt. iii. 7. * Matt. vii. 13, 14. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 183 

him to return ; but the Man put his fingers in his ears, 
and ran on, crying, Life ! Life ! Eternal Life !^ So he 
looked not behind him, but fled towards the middle of 
the Plain. 

The Neighbors also came out to see him run ; and as 
he ran, some mocked, others threatened, and some cried 
after him to return ; and among those that did so, there 
were two that resolved to fetch him back by force.^ 
The name of the one was Obstinate, and the name of 
the other Pliable. Now by this time the Man was got 
a good distance from them ; but however they were 
resolved to pursue him, which they did, and in a little 
time they overtook him. Then said the Man, Neighbors, 
wherefore are you come } They said, To persuade you 
to go back with us. But he said, That can by no means 
be ; you dwell, said he, in the City of Destniction, the 
place also where I was born, I see it to be so ; and dying 
there, sooner or later, you will sink lower than the 
Grave, into a place that burns with Fire and Brimstone: 
be content, good Neighbors, and go along with me. 

Obst. What, said Obstinate, and leave our friends and 
our comforts behind us ! 

CJir. Yes, said Christian, for that was his name, 
because that all which you shall forsake is not worthy 
to be compared with a little of that that I am seeking to 
enjoy ;^ and if you will go along with me, and hold it, 
you shall fare as I myself ; for there where I go, is 
enough and to spare : ^ Come away, and prove my 
words. 

Obst. What are the things you seek, since you leave 
all the world to find them .-' 



1 Luke xiv. 26; Gen. xix. 17. ^ Jer. xx. 10. 

3 2 Cor. iv. 18. * Luke xv. 17. 



18+ THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Chr. I seek an IiiJieritance incorruptible, undefiled, and 
that fade th not azvay ;^ and it is laid up in Heaven, and 
safe there, to be bestowed, at tlie time appointed, on 
them that diligently seek it.^ Read it so, if you will, in 
my Book. 

Obst. Tush, said Obstinate, away with your Book ; will 
you go back with us or no ? 

Cki\ No, not I, said the other, because I have laid 
my hand to the Plough.^ 

Obst. Come then, Neighbor Pliable, let us turn again, 
and go home without him ; there is a company of these 
craz'd-headed coxcombs, that, when they take a fancy 
by the end, are wiser in their own eyes than seven men 
that can render a reason. 

PH. Then said Pliable, Don't revile ; if what the 
good Christian says is true, the things he looks after are 
better than ours ; my heart inclines to go with my 
Neighbor. 

Obst. What ! more fools still } Be ruled by me, and 
go back ; who knows whither such a brain-sick fellow 
will lead you .-* Go back, go back, and be wise. 

Chr. Come with me. Neighbor Pliable; there are 
such things to be had which I spoke of, and many more 
Glories besides. If you believe not me, read here in 
this Book ; and for the truth of what is exprest therein, 
behold, all is confirmed by the blood of Him that 
made it.* 

PH. Well, Neighbor Obstinate, said Pliable, I begin 
to come to a point ; I intend to go along with this good 
man, and to cast in my lot with him : but, my good 
companion, do you know the way to this desired place .-' 

^ I Pet. i. 4. '^ Heb. xi. 16. ^ Luke ix. 62. 

* Heb. ix. 17-22; chap. xiii. 20. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 185 

Chr. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evan- 
gelist, to speed me to a little Gate that is before us, 
where we shall receive instructions about the way. 

Pli. Come then, good Neighbor, let us be going. 
Then they went both together. 

Obst. And I will go back to my place, said Obstinate ; 
I will be no companion of such misled, fantastical 
fellows. 

Now I saw in my Dream, that when Obstinate was 
gone back, CJiristian and Pliable went talking over the 
Plain ; and thus they began their discourse. 

Chr. Come, Neighbor Pliable, how do you do } I am 
glad you are persuaded to go along with me : Had even 
Obstinate himself but felt what I have felt of the powers 
and terrors of what is yet unseen, he would not thus 
lightly have given us the back. 

Pli. Come, Neighbor CJiristian, since there are none 
but us two here, tell me now further what the things 
are, and how to be enjoyed, whither we are going.? 

Chr. I can better conceive of them with my Mind, 
than speak of them with my Tongue : but yet, since you 
are desirous to know, I will read of them in my Book. 

Pli. And do you think that the words of your Book 
are certainly true .-• 

Chr. Yes, verily ; for it was made by Him that can- 
not lye.i 

Pli. Well said ; what things are they .■* 

Chr. There is an endless Kingdom to be inhabited, 
and everlasting Life to be given us, that we may inhabit 
that Kingdom for ever.^ 

Pli. Well said ; and what else } 

Chr. There are Crowns of glory to be given us, and 

1 Tit. i. 2. 2 isa. xlv. 17; John x. 28, 29. 



186 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Garments that will make us shine like the Sun in the 
firmament of Heaven.^ 

Pli. This is excellent ; and what else ? 

CJir. There shall be no more crying, nor sorrow ; for 
He that is owner of the place will wipe all tears from 
our eyes.2 

Pli. And what company shall we have there ? 

Chr. There we shall be with SerapJiims and CJieru- 
bins^ creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on 
them : * There also you shall meet with thousands and 
ten thousands that have gone before us to that place ; 
none of them are hurtful, but loving and holy ; every 
one walking in the sight of God, and standing in his 
presence with acceptance for ever.^ In a word, there 
we shall see the Elders with their golden Crowns, there 
we shall see the Holy Virgins with their golden Harps,*^ 
there we shall see men that by the World were cut in 
pieces, burnt in flames, eaten of beasts, drowned in 
the seas, for the love that they bare to the Lord of the 
place, all well, and cloathed with Immortality as with a 
garment.'' 

Pli. The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's 
heart ; but are these things to be enjoyed? How shall 
we get to be sharers hereof ? 



1 2 Tim. iv. 8; Rev. iii. 4; Matt. xiii. 43. 

2 Isa. XXV. 8; Rev. vii. 17; chap. xxi. 4. 

^ Seraphitns and Cherubifis. The plural form of seraph and cherub 
sanctioned by the best authorities is made simply by the addition of the 
syllable im ; thus, seraphim and cherubim. Yet in the common version of 
the Bible, the plurals uniformly used are seraphims and cherubinis. Milton 
uses still another form : — 

" Thou sitst between the cherubs bright." 

* Isa. vi. 2. ^ I Thess. iv. 16, 17; Rev. v. 11. 

^ Rev. iv. 4; chap. xiv. 1-5. ^ John xii. 25; 2 Cor. v. 2-4. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 187 

CJir. The Lord, the Governor of the country, hath 
recorded tJiat in this Book ; the substance of which is, 
If we be truly willing to have it, he will bestow it upon 
us freely.i 

PH. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of 
these things ; come on, let us mend our pace. 

CJir. I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of 
this Burden that is upon my back. 

Now I saw in my Dream, that just as they had ended 
this talk, they drew near to a very miry Slough, that 
was in the midst of the plain ; and they, being heed- 
less, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of 
the slough was Dispojtd. Here therefore they wallowed 
for a time, being grievously bedaubed with dirt ; and 
Christian^ because of the Burden that was on his back, 
began to sink in the mire. 

PH. Then said PHable, Ah, Neighbor ChrisHan, 
where are you now .-* 

Chr. Truly, said CJirisHan, I do not know. 

PH. At that PHable began to be offended, and 
angrily said to his fellow, Is this the happiness you 
have told me all this while of } If we have such ill 
speed at our first setting out, what may we expect 
'twixt this and our Journey's end .-' May I get out again 
with my life, you shall possess the brave Country alone 
for me. And with that he gave a desperate struggle or 
two, and got out of the mire on that side of the Slough 
which was next to his own house : so away he went, and 
Christian saw him no more. 

Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough 
of Disp07id alone : but still he endeavoured to struggle 
to that side of the Sloug-h that was still further from his 



^ Isa. Iv. I, 2; John vi. 37; chap. vii. 37; Rev. xxi. 6; chap. xxii. 17. 



188 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

own house, and next to the Wicket-gate ; the which he 
did, but could not get out, because of the Burden that 
was upon his back : But I beheld in my Dream, that a 
man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked him, 
What he did tJiere ? 

Chr. Sir, said CJiristian, I was bid go this way by a 
man called Evangelist, who directed me also to yonder 
Gate; that I might escape the wrath to come ; and as I 
was going thither, I fell in here. 

Help. But why did you not look for the steps ? 

CJir. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next 
way, and fell in. 

Help. Then said he, Give me thy hand: so he gave 
him his hand, and he drew him out, and set him upon 
sound ground, and bid him go on his way.^ 

Then I stepped to him that pluckt him out, and said, 
Sir, wherefore, since over this place is the way from the 
City of Destructio7i to yonder Gate, is it that this plat is 
not mended, that poor travellers might go thither with 
more security .'* And he said unto me, This miry Slough 
is such a place as cannot be mended ; it is the descent 
whither the scum and filth that attends conviction for 
sin doth continually run, and therefore it is called the 
Slough of Dispond; for still as the sinner is awakened 
about his lost condition, there ariseth in his soul many 
fears and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which 
all of them get together, and settle in this place : And 
this is the reason of the badness of this ground. 

It is not the pleasure of the King that this place 
should remain so bad.^ His labourers also have, by the 
direction of His Majesties Surveyors, been for above 
these sixteen hundred years imployed about this patch 

^ Ps. xl. 2. "^ Isa. XXXV. 3, 4. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 189 

of ground, if perhaps it might have been mended : yea, 
and to my knowledge, said he, Jicre hath been swallowed 
up at least twenty thousand cart-loads, yea, millions of 
wholesome instructions, that have at all seasons been 
brought from all places of the King's dominions (and 
they that can tell say they are the best materials to 
make good ground of the place), if so be it might have 
been mended, but it is the Slough of Dispond still, and 
so will be when they have done what they can. 



THE INTERPRETER'S HOUSE. 

Then CJiristian began to gird up his loins, and to ad- 
dress himself to his Journey. So the other told him. 
That by that he was gone some distance from the Gate, 
he would come at the house of the Interpreter, at whose 
door he should knock, and he would shew him excellent 
things. Then Christian took his leave of his Friend, 
and he again bid him God speed. 

Then he went on till he came at the house of the In- 
terpreter, where he knocked over and over ; at last one 
came to the door, and asked Who was there .'' 

CJir. Sir, here is a Traveller, who was bid by an ac- 
quaintance of the good man of this house to call here for 
my profit ; I would therefore speak with the Master of 
the house. So he called for the Master of the house, 
who after a little time came to Christian, and asked him 
what he would have .-* 

Chr. Sir, said CJiristian, I am a man that am come 
from the City of Destruction, and am going to the Mount 
Zion ; and I was told by the Man that stands at the 
Gate, at the head of this way, that if I called here, you 



190 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

would shew me excellent things, such as would be a 
help to me in my Journey. 

Inter. Then said the Interpreter, Come in, I will shew 
thee that which will be profitable to thee. So he com- 
manded his man to light the Candle, and bid Christian 
follow him : so he had him into a private room, and bid 
his man open a door ; the which when he had done. Chris- 
tian saw the Picture of a very grave Person hang up 
against the wall ; and this was the fashion of it. It had 
eyes lifted up to Heaven, the best of Books in his hand, 
the Law of Truth was written upon his lips, the World 
was behind his back. It stood as if it pleaded with men, 
and a Crown of Gold did hang over his head. 
Chr. Then said Christian, What means this .-' 
Inter. The Man whose Picture this is, is one of a thou- 
sand ; he can beget children, travel in birth with children, 
and nurse them himself when they are born.^ And 
whereas thou seest him with his eyes lift up to Heaven, 
the best of Books in his hand, and the Law of Truth 
writ on his lips, it is to shew thee that his work is to 
know and unfold dark things to sinners ; even as also 
thou seest him stand as if he pleaded with men ; and 
whereas thou seest the World as cast behind him, and 
that a Crown hangs over his head, that is to shew thee 
that slighting and despising the things that are present, 
for the love that he hath to his Master's service, he is 
sure in the world that comes next to have Glory for his 
reward. Now, said the Interpreter, I have shewed thee 
this Picture first, because the Man whose Picture this 
is, is the only man whom the Lord of the place whither 
thou art going hath authorized to be thy guide in all 
difficult places thou mayest meet with in the way : 

1 I Cor. iv. 15; Gal. iv, 19. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 191 

wherefore take good heed to what I have shewed thee, 
and bear well in thy mind what thou hast seen, lest in 
thy Journey thou meet with some that pretend to lead 
thee right, but their way goes down to death. 

Then he took him by the hand, and led him into a 
very large Parlour that was full of dust, because never 
swept ; the which after he had reviewed a little while, the 
Interpreter called for a man to sweep. Now when he 
began to sweep, the dust began so abundantly to fly 
about, that CJiristian had almost therewith been choaked. 
Then said the Interpreter to a Damsel that stood by. 
Bring hither the Water, and sprinkle the Room ; the 
which when she had done, it was swept and cleansed 
with pleasure. 

Chr. Then said Chris tian. What means this } 

Liter. The Interpreter answered. This parlour is the 
heart of a man that was never sanctified by the sweet 
Grace of the Gospel : the dicst is his Original Sin and in- 
ward Corruptions, that have defiled the whole man. He 
that began to sweep at first is the Law ; but she that 
drought water, and did sprinkle it, is the Gospel. Now, 
whereas thou sawest that so soon as the first began to 
sweep, the dust did so fly about that* the Room by him 
could not be cleansed, but that thou wast almost choaked 
therewith ; this is to shew thee, that the Law, instead of 
cleansing the heart (by its working) from sin, doth revive, 
piit strength into, and increase it in the soul, even as it 
doth discover and forbid it, for it doth not give power to 
subdue.^ 

Again, as thou sawest the Damsel sprinkle the room 
with Water, upon which it was cleansed with pleasure ; 
this is to shew thee, that when the Gospel comes in the 
sweet and precious influences thereof to the heart, then 

1 Rom. vii. 6; I Cor. xv. 56; Rom. v. 20. 



192 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

I say, even as thou savvest the Damsel lay the dust by 
sprinkling the floor with Water, so is sin vanquished and 
subdued, and the soul made clean, through the faith of 
it, and consequently fit for the King of Glory to inhabit.^ 

I saw moreover in my Dream, that the Interpreter 
took him by the hand, and had him into a little room, 
where sat two little Children, each one in his chair. 
The name of the eldest was Passion, and the name of 
the other Patience. Passion seemed to be much dis- 
content ; but Patience was very quiet. Then Christian 
asked, What is the reason of the discontent of Passion ? 
The Interpreter answered, The Governor of them would 
have him stay for his best things till the beginning of 
the next year ; but he will have all now ; but Patience is 
willing to wait. 

Then I saw that one came to Passion, and brought 
him a bag of Treasure, and poured it down at his feet, 
the which he took up and rejoiced therein ; and withal, 
laughed Patience to scorn. But I beheld but a while, 
and he had lavished all away, and had nothing left him 
but Rags. 

Chr. Then said CJiristian to the Interpreter, Expound 
this matter more fully to me. 

Inter. So he said, These two Lads are figures : Pas- 
sion, of the men of tJiis world ; and Patience, of the 
men of that which is to come ; for as here thou seest, 
Passioji will have all now this year, that is to say, in 
this world ; so are the men of this world : they must 
have all their good things now, they cannot stay till 
next year, that is, until the next world, for their portion 
of good. That proverb, A Bird in the Hand is worth 
tzvo in the BiisJi, is of more authority with them than 

1 John XV. 3; Eph. v. 26; Acts xv. 9; Rom. xvi. 25, 26; John xiv. 23. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 193 

are all the Divine testimonies of the good of the world 
to come. But as thou sawest that he had quickly lav- 
ished all away, and had presently left him nothing but 
Rags ; so will it be with all such men at the end of this 
world. 

CJir. Then said Christian, Now I see that Patience 
has the best wisdom, and that upon many accounts. 
I. Because he stays for the best things. 2. And also 
because he will have the Glory of his, when the other 
has nothing but Rags. 

Inter. Nay, you may add another, to wit, the glory of 
the next world will never wear out ; but these are sud- 
denly gone. Therefore Passion had not so much reason 
to laugh at Patience, because he had his good things 
firsts as Patience will have to laugh at Passion, because 
he had his best things l^st ; iox first must give place to 
last, because last must have his time to come : but last 
gives place to nothing ; for there is not another to suc- 
ceed. He therefore that hath his portion first, must 
needs have a time to spend it ; but he that hath his por- 
tion last, must have it lastingly ; therefore it is said of 
Dives, In thy Lifetime thou receivedst thy good tJmigs, 
and likeivise' \j3iZ?iX\x?> evil things ; but noiv lie is coni- 
foi'ted and thou art tormented} 

Chr. Then I perceive 'tis not best to covet things 
that are now, but to wait for things to come. 

Inter. You say truth : For the things wJiich are seen 
are Temporal ; bnt the things that ai'e not seen are Eter- 
nal.2 But though this be so, yet since things present 
and our fleshly appetite are such near neighbors one to 
another ; and, again, because things to come and carnal 
sense are such strangers one to another ; therefore it is 

^ Luke xvi. 25. '^ 2 Cor. iv. i8. 



194 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

that the first of these so suddenly fall into amity, and 
that distance is so continued between the second. 

Then I saw in my dream that the Interpreter took 
Christian by the hand, and led him into a place where 
was a Fire burning against a wall, and one standing by 
it, always casting much Water upon it, to quench it ; 
yet did the Fire burn higher and hotter. 

Then said Christian, What means this } 

The Interpreter answered. This Fire is the work of 
Grace that is wrought in the heart ; he that casts Water 
upon it, to extinguish and put it out, is the Devil ; but 
in that thou seest the Fire notwithstandins: burn hioher 
and hotter, thou shalt also see the reason of that. So 
he had him about to the back side of the wall, where he 
saw a man with a Vessel of Oil in his hand, of the 
which he did also continually cast (but secretly) into the 
Fire. 

Then said CJiristiaii, What means this .-• 

The Inteipreter answered. This is Christ, who contin- 
ually, with the Oil of his Grace,^ maintains the work 
already begun in the heart : by the means of which, 
notwithstanding what the Devil can do, the souls of his 
people prove gracious still. And in that thou sawest 
that the man stood behind the wall to maintain the 
Fire, that is to teach thee that it is hard for the 
tempted to see how this work of Grace is maintained 
in the soul. 

I saw also that the Interpreter took him again by the 
hand, and led him into a pleasant place, where was 
builded a stately Palace, beautiful to behold : at the 
sight of which Christian was greatly delighted : He saw 
also upon the top thereof, certain persons walking, who 
were cloathed all in gold. 

^ 2 Cor. xii. 9. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 195 

Then said Christian, May we go in thither ? 

Then the Literpreter took him, and led him up toward 
the door of the Palace ; and behold, at the door stood a 
great company of men, as desirous to go in, but durst 
not. There also sat a man at a little distance from 
the door, at a table-side, with a Book and his Inkhorn 
before him, to take the name of him that should enter 
therein ; He saw also, that in the door-way stood many 
men in armour to keep it, being resolved to do the men 
that would enter what hurt and mischief they could. 
Now was Christian somewhat in a maze. At last, when 
every man started back for fear of the armed men, 
Christiaji saw a man of a very stout countenance come 
up to the man that sat there to write, saying, Set down 
my name, Sir: the which when he had done, he saw the 
man draw his Sword, and put an Helmet upon his head, 
and rush toward the door upon the armed men, who 
laid upon him with deadly force ; but the man, not at 
all discouraged, fell to cutting and hacking most fiercely. 
So after he had received and given many wounds to 
those that attempted to keep him out,^ he cut his way 
through them all, and pressed forward into the Palace, 
at which there was a pleasant voice heard from those 
that were within, even of those that walked upon the 
top of the Palace, saying, 

Come in. Come in ; 
Eternal Glory thou shalt win. 

So he went in, and was cloathed with such garments 
as they. Then CJiristian smiled, and said, I think verily 
I know the meaning of this. 

^ Acts xiv. 22. 



196 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 



VANITY FAIR. 

Then I saw in my Dream, that when they were got 
out of the Wilderness, they presently saw a Town before 
them, and the name of that Town is Vanity ; and at the 
Town there is a Fair kept, called Vanity Fair : it is kept 
all the year long ; it beareth the name of Vanity Fair, 
because the Town where 'tis kept is lighter tJian Vanity; 
and also because all that is there sold, or that cometh 
thither, is Vanity. As is the saying of the wise. All 
that cometh is Vanity} 

This Fair is no new-erected business, but a thing of 
antient standing; I will shew you the original of it. 

Almost five thousand years agone, there were Pilgrims 
walking to the Coelestial City, as these two honest per- 
sons are ; and Bcchcbub, Apollyon, and Legion, with 
their Companions, perceiving by the path that the Pil- 
grims made, that their way to the City lay through this 
Town of Vanity, they contrived here to set up a Fair ; 
a Fair wherein should be sold all sorts of Vanity, and 
that it should last all the year long : therefore at this 
Fair are all such Merchandize sold, as Houses, Lands, 
Trades, Places, Honours, Preferments, Titles, Countries, 
Kingdoms, Lusts, Pleasures, and Delights of all sorts, 
as Whores, Bawds, Wives, Husbands, Children, Masters, 
Servants, Lives, Blood, Bodies, Souls, Silver, Gold, 
Pearls, Precious Stones, and what not .-' 

And moreover, at this Fair there is at all times to 
be seen Jugglings, Cheats, Games, Plays, Fools, Apes, 
Knaves, and Rogues, and that of every kind. 

Here are to be seen too, and that for nothing. Thefts, 



1 Isa. xl. 17; Eccl. i.; chap. ii. 11, 17. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 197 

Murders, Adulteries, false-swearers, and that of a blood- 
red colour. 

And as in other Fairs of less moment, there are the 
several Rows and Streets under their proper names, 
where such and such Wares are vended ; so here like- 
wise you have the proper places. Rows, Streets, {viz. 
Countries and Kingdoms) where the Wares of this Fair 
are soonest to be found : Here is the Britain Row, the 
French Row, the Italian Row, the Spanish Row, the 
German Row, where several sorts of Vanities are to be 
sold. But as in other Fairs, some one commodity is as 
the chief of all the Fair, so the ware of Rome and her 
Merchandize is greatly promoted in this Fair ; only our 
EnglisJi nation, with some others, have taken a dislike 
thereat. 

Now, as I said, the way to the Coelestial City lies just 
through this Town where this lusty fair is kept ; and he 
that will go to the City, and yet not go through this 
Town, must needs ^^ out of tJie ivorld} The Prince of 
Princes himself, when here, went through this Town to 
his own Country,^ and that upon a Fair-day too ; yea, 
and as I think, it was Bcchcbub, the chief Lord of this 
Fair, that invited him to buy of his Vanities : yea, would 
have made him Lord of the Fair, would he but have 
done him reverence as he went through the Town. 
Yea, because he was such a person of honour, Beelzebub 
had him from Street to Street, and shewed him all the 
Kingdoms of the World in a little time, that he might 
(if possible) allure that Blessed One to cheapen and buy 
some of his Vanities ; but he had no mind to the Mer- 
chandize, and therefore left the Town, without laying 
out so much as one Farthing upon these Vanities. This 

1 I Cor. V. 10. 2 jyjatt. iv. 8; Luke iv. 5-7. 



198 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Fair therefore is an antient thing, of long standing and 
a very great Fair. 

Now these Pilgrims, as I said, must needs go through 
this Fair. Well, so they did ; but behold, even as they 
entred into the Fair, all the people in the Fair were 
moved, and the Town itself as it were in a hubbub about 
them ; and that for several reasons : for 

First, The Pilgrims were cloathed with such kind of 
Raiment as was diverse from the Raiment of any that 
traded in that Fair. The people therefore of the Fair 
made a great gazing upon them ; ^ some said they were 
Fools, some they were Bedlams, and some they are Out- 
landishmen. 

Secondly, And as they wondred at their Apparel, so 
they did likewise at their Speech ; for few could under- 
stand what they said : they naturally spoke the language 
of Cajiaan, but they that kept the Fair were the men of 
this World ; so that, from one end of the Fair to the 
other, they seemed Barbarians each to the other. 

Thirdly, But that which did not a little amuse the 
Merchandizers was that these Pilgrims set very light by 
all their Wares, they cared not so much as to look upon 
them ; and if they called upon them to buy, they would 
put their fingers in their ears, and cry, Turn away mine 
eyes from beJioldi^ig Vanity, and look upwards, signifying 
that their trade and trafifick was in Heaven, ^ 

One chanced mockingly, beholding the carriages of 
the men, to say unto them. What will ye buy .'' But 
they, looking gravely upon him, answered, We buy the 
Trnth.^ At that there was an occasion taken to despise 
the men the more ; some mocking, some taunting, some 
speaking reproachfully, and some calling upon others to 

^ I Cor. ii. 7, 8. ^ Ps. cxix. 37; Phil. iii. 19, 20. ^ Prov. xxiii. 23. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 199 

smite them. At last things came to a hubbub and great 
stir in the Fair, insomuch that all order was confounded. 
Now was word presently brought to the Great One of the 
Fair, who quickly came down and deputed some of his 
most trusty friends to take those men into examination, 
about whom the Fair was almost overturned. So the men 
were brought to examination ; and they that sat upon 
them asked them whence they came, whither they went, 
and what they did there in such an unusual Garb .'' The 
men told them that they were Pilgrims and Strangers in 
the World, and that they were going to'their own Coun- 
try, which was the Heavenlyy^-r^j-^/^;;// ^ and that they 
had given no occasion to the men of the Town, nor yet to 
the Merchandizers, thus to abuse them, and to let them 
in their Journey, except it was for that, when one asked 
them what they would buy, they said they would buy 
the Truth. But they that were appointed to examine 
them did not believe them to be any other than Bedlams 
and Mad, or else such as came to put all things into a 
confusion in the Fair. Therefore they took them and 
beat them, and besmeared them with dirt, and then put 
them into the Cage, that they might be made a spectacle 
to all the men of the Fair. There therefore they lay 
for some time, and were made the objects of any man's 
sport, or malice, or revenge, the Great One of the Fair 
laughing still at all that befell them. But the men 
being patient, and not rendring railing for railing, but 
contrariwise blessing, and giving good words for bad, and 
kindness for injuries done, some men in the Fair that 
were more observing, and less prejudiced than the rest, 
began to check and blame the baser sort for their con- 
tinual abuses done by them to the men ; they therefore 

1 Heb. xi. 13-16. 



200 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

in angry manner let fly at them again, counting them as 
bad as the men in the Cage, and telHng them that they 
seemed confederates, and should be made partakers of 
their misfortunes. The other replied, that for ought 
they could see, the men were quiet, and sober, and in- 
tended nobody any harm ; and that there were many 
that traded in their Fair that were more worthy to be put 
into the Cage, yea, and Pillory too, than were the men 
that they had abused. Thus, after divers words had 
passed on both sides (the men behaving themselves all 
the while very wisely and soberly before them), they fell 
to some blows among themselves, and did harm one to 
another. Then were these two poor men brought before 
their examiners again, and there charged as being guilty 
of the late hubbub that had been in the Fair. So they 
beat them pitifully and hanged irons upon them, and led 
them in chains up and down the Fair, for an example 
and a terror to others, lest any should speak in their 
behalf, or join themselves unto them. But Christiati 
and Faithful behaved themselves yet more wisely, and 
received the ignominy and shame that was cast upon 
them, with so much meekness and patience, that it won 
to their side (though but few in comparison of the rest) 
several of the men in the Fair. This put the other 
party yet into a greater rage, insomuch that they con- 
cluded the death of these two men. Wherefore they 
threatned, that the Cage, nor irons should serve their 
turn, but that they should die, for the abuse they had 
done, and for deluding the men of the Fair. 



THE PILGRIM'S Pli OGRESS. 201 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 

I saw in my dream, that when Cliristian was got to 
the borders of the Shadotv of Death, there met him two 
men, Children of them that brought up an evil report 
of the good land,^ making haste to go back ; to whom 
Cliristian spake as follows. 

Clu\ Whither are you going.-* 

Men. They said, Back, back ; and we would have you 
to do so too, if either life or peace is prized by you. 

Chr. Why, what's the matter .'* said Cliristian. 

Men. Matter! said they; we were going that way as 
you are going, and went as far as we durst ; and indeed 
we were almost past coming back ; for had we gone a 
little further, we had not been here to bring the news to 
thee. 

CJir. But what have you met with .-' said Christian. 

Men. Why, we were almost in the Valley of the 
Shadow of DeatJi ; ^ but that by good hap we looked 
before us, and saw the danger before we came to it. 

Chr. But what have you seen .■" said Christian. 

Men. Seen ! Why, the Valley itself, which is as 
dark as pitch ; we also saw there the Hobgoblins, 
Satyrs, and Dragons of the Pit ; we heard also in that 
Valley a continual howling and yelling, as of a people 
under unutterable misery, who sat there bound in affliction 
and irons ; and over that Valley hang the discouraging 
clouds of Confusion ; Death also doth always spread his 
wings over it.^ In a word, it is every whit dreadful, 
being utterly without Order. 



1 Num. xiii. ^ Ps. xliv. 19; Ps. cvii. 10. * Job iii. 5; chap. x. 22. 



202 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Chr. Then said Christian, I perceive not yet, by what 
you have said, but that this is my way to the desired 
Haven. ^ 

Men. Be it thy way ; we will not chuse it for ours. 
So they parted, and Christiuji went on his way, but still 
with his Sword drawn in his hand, for fear lest he should 
be assaulted. 

I saw then in my Dream, so far as this Valley reached, 
there was on the right hand a very deep Ditch ; that 
Ditch is it into which the blind have led the blind in all 
ages, and have both there miserably perished.^ Again, 
behold on the left hand there was a very dangerous 
Quag, into which, if even a good man falls, he can 
find no bottom for his foot to stand on. Into that Quag 
King David once did fall, and had no doubt therein 
been smothered, had not he that is able pluckt him out. 

The path-way was here also exceeding narrow, and 
therefore good Christian was the more put to it ; for 
when he sought in the dark to shun the ditch on the one 
hand, he was ready to tip over into the mire on the 
other; also when he sought to escape the mire, without 
great carefulness he would be ready to fall into the 
ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard him here sigh 
bitterly ; for, besides the dangers mentioned above, the 
pathway was here so dark, that oft-times, when he lift 
up his foot to set forward, he knew not where, or upon 
what he should set it next. 

About the midst of this Valley, I perceived the mouth 
of Hell to be, and it stood also hard by the wayside. 
Now thought Christian, what shall I do .'' And ever and 
anon the flame and smoke would come out in such 
abundance, with sparks and hideous noises (things that 

1 Jer. ii. 6. 2 pg. ixix. 14. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 203 

cared not for Christian s Sword, as did Apollyon before) 
that hewas forced to put up his Sword, and betake him- 
self to another weapon, called All-prayer} So he cried 
in my hearing, O Lord I beseech thee deliver my Soul?' 
Thus he went on a great while, yet still the flames would 
be reaching towards him : Also he heard doleful voices, 
and rushings to and fro, so that sometimes he thought 
he should be torn in pieces, or trodden down like mire 
in the Streets. This frightful sight was seen, and these 
dreadful noises were heard by him for several miles 
together ; and coming to a place where he thought he 
heard a company of Fiends coming forward to meet him, 
he stopt, and began to muse what he had best to do. 
Sometimes he had half a thought to go back ; then again 
he thought he might be half way through the Valley ; he 
remembered also how he had already vanquished many 
a danger, and that the danger of going back might be 
much more than for to go forward ; so he resolved to go 
on. Yet the Fiends seemed to come nearer and nearer ; 
but when they were come even almost at him, he cried 
out with a most vehement voice, / will walk in the 
strength of the Lord God ; so they gave back, and came 
no further. 

One thing I would not let slip ; I took notice that 
now poor Christian was so confounded, that he did not 
know his own voice; and thus I perceived it: Just 
when he was come over against the mouth of the burn- 
ing Pit, one of the wicked ones got behind him, and 



Poor man ! where art thou now? Thy Day is Night. 
Good man be not cast down, thou yet art right : 
Thy way to Heaven hes by the gates of Hell; 
Cheer up, hold out, with thee it shall go well. 

1 Eph. vi. 1 8. 2 ps. cxvi. 4, 



204 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

stept up softly to him, and whisperingly suggested many 
grievous blasphemies to him, which he verily thought 
had proceeded from his own mind. This put Christian 
more to it than anything that he met with before, even 
to think that he should now blaspheme him that he 
loved so much before ; yet, if he could have helped it, 
he would not have done it ; but he had not the discre- 
tion neither to stop his ears, nor to know from whence 
those blasphemies came. 

When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate con- 
dition some considerable time, he thought he heard the 
voice of a man, as going before him, saying, Though I 
walk through the Valley of the SJiadoiv of Death, I will 
fear none ill, for thou art zvith nie} 

Then he was glad, and that for these reasons : 

First, because he gathered from thence, that some 
who feared God were in this Valley as well as himself. 

Secondly, For that he perceived God was with them, 
though in that dark and dismal state ; and why not, 
thought he, with me.-' though by reason of the impedi- 
ment that attends this place, I cannot perceive it.^ 

Thirdly, For that he hoped, could he overtake them, 
to have company by and by. So he went on, and called 
to him that was before ; but he knew not what to answer, 
for that he also thought himself to be alone. And by 
and by the day broke; then said Christian, He hath 
turned the Shadow of Death into the morning^ 

Now morning being come, he looked back, not out of 
desire to return, but to see, by the light of the day, what 
hazards he had gone through in the dark. So he saw 
more perfectly the Ditch that was on the one hand, and 
the Quag that was on the other; also how narrow the 

^ Ps. xxiii. 4. 2 Job ix. II. ^ ^^n^os v. 8. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 205 

way was which led betwixt them both; also now he saw 
the Hobgoblins, and Satyrs, and Dragons of the Pit, but 
all afar off; for after break of day, they came not nigh; 
yet they were discovered to him, according to that which 
is written, He discovcreth deep tilings out of darkness, 
and bringeth out to light the Shadozv of Death} 

Now was Christian much affected with his deliverance 
from all the dangers of his solitary way; which dangers 
though he feared them more before, yet he saw them 
more clearly now, because the light of the day made 
them conspicuous to him. And about this time the 
Sun was rising, and this was another mercy to CJiris- 
tian; for you must note, that though the first part of the 
Valley of the Shadozv of Death was dangerous, yet this 
second part which he was yet to go was, if possible, far 
more dangerous : for from the place where he now stood, 
even to the end of the Valley, the way was all along set 
so full of Snares, Traps, Gins, and Nets here, and so full 
of Pits, Pitfalls, deep Holes, and Shelvings down there, 
that had it now been dark, as it was when he came the 
first part of the way, had he had a thousand souls, they 
had in reason been cast away; but as I said, just now 
the Sun was rising. Then said he. His candle shinetk 
on my head, and by his light I go through darkness? 

In this light, therefore, he came to the end of the 
valley. 

THE CELESTIAL CITY. 

So I saw that when they awoke, they addressed them- 
selves to go up to the City. But, as I said, the reflec- 
tion of the Sun upon the City (for the City was pure 

1 Job xii. 22. 2 Job xxix. 3. 



206 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Gold) ^ was so extremely glorious, that they could not 
as yet with open face behold it, but through an Instru- 
ment made for that purpose.^ So I saw that as they 
went on, there met them two men, in Raiment that 
shone like Gold, also their faces shone as the light. 

These men asked the Pilgrims whence they came ? 
and they told them. They also asked them where they 
had lodged, what difficulties and dangers, what comforts 
and pleasures they had met in the way .-' and they told 
them. Then said the men that met them, You have but 
two difficulties more to meet with, and then you are in 
the City. 

Christian then and his Companion asked the men to 
go along with them, so they told them they would. But, 
said they, you must obtain it by your own Faith. So I 
saw in my Dream that they went on together till they 
came in sight of the Gate. 

Now I further saw that betwixt them and the Gate 
was a River, but there was no Bridge to go over, the 
River was very deep : at the sight therefore of this River 
the Pilgrims were much stunned ; but the men that went 
with them said, You must go through, or you cannot 
come at the Gate. 

The Pilgrims then began to enquire if there was no 
other way to the Gate ; to which they answered. Yes, 
but there hath not any, save two, to wit, EnocJi and 
Elijah, been permitted to tread that path, since the 
foundation of the World, nor shall, until the last Trumpet 
shall sound.3 The Pilgrims then, especially Christian, 
began to dispond in his mind, and looked this way and 
that, but no way could be found by them by which they 
might escape the River. Then they asked the men if 

1 Rev. xxi. i8. 2 2 Cor. iii. i8. ^ j Cq^. xv. 51, 52. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 207 

the Waters were all of a depth ? They said, No ; yet 
they could not help them in that case, for said they, you 
shall find it deeper or shallower, as you believe in the 
King of the place. 

They then addressed themselves to the Water; and 
entring, CJiristian began to sink, and crying out to his 
good friend Hopeful, he said, I sink in deep Waters ; 
the Billows go over my head, all his Waves go over me, 
SclaJi. 

Then said the other. Be of good cheer my Brother, I 
feel the bottom, and it is good. Then said Christiajt, 
Ah my friend, the sorrows of death have compassed me 
about, I shall not see the land that flows with milk and 
honey. And with that a great darkness and horror fell 
upon Christian, so that he could not see before him. 
Also here he in great measure lost his senses, so that 
he could neither remember, nor orderly talk of any of 
those sweet refreshments that he had met with in the 
way of his Pilgrimage. But all the words that he spake 
still tended to discover that he had horror of mind, and 
heart-fears that he should die in that River, and never 
obtain entrance in at the Gate. Here also, as they that 
stood by perceived, he was much in the troublesome 
thoughts of the sins that he had committed, both since 
and before he began to be a Pilgrim. 'Twas also ob- 
served that he was troubled with apparitions of Hob- 
goblins and evil Spirits, for ever and anon he would 
intimate so much by words. Hopeful therefore here 
had much ado to keep his Brother's head above water ; 
yea sometimes he would be quite gone down, and then 
ere a while he would rise up again half dead. Hopeful 
also would endeavour to comfort him, saying, Brother, 
I see the Gate, and men standing by to receive us. But 



208 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Christian would answer, 'Tis you, 'tis you they wait for, 
you have been hopeful ever since I knew you. And so 
have you, said he to Christian. Ah Brother, said he, 
surely if I was right, he would now arise to help me ; 
but for my sins he hath brought me into the snare, and 
hath left me. Then said Hopeful, My Brother, you have 
quite forgot the Text, where it is said of the wicked, 
There is no bajid in their death, but their strength is firm, 
they are not troubled as other men, neither are they plagued 
like other men} These troubles and distresses that you 
go through in these Waters are no sign that God hath 
forsaken you, but are sent to try you, whether you will 
call to mind that which heretofore you have received of 
his goodness, and live upon him in your distresses. 

Then I saw in my Dream, that CJiristian was as in a 
muse a while. To whom also Hopeful added this word. 
Be of good cheer, Jesus Christ maketJi thee ivhole ; and 
with that Christian brake out with a loud voice, Oh I 
see him again, and he tells me, When tJiou passest tJirough 
the Waters, I will be with thee ; and tJirougJi the Rivers, 
they shall not overflow thee? Then they both took cour- 
age, and the Enemy was after that as still as a stone, 
until they were gone over. Christian therefore presently 
found ground to stand upon, and so it followed that the 
rest of the River was but shallow. Thus they got over. 
Now upon the bank of the River on the other side, they 
saw the two shining men again, who there waited for 
them ; wherefore being come out of the River, they 
saluted them saying, We are ministring Spirits, sent 
forth to mijiister for those that shall be heirs of salvation. 
Thus they went along towards the Gate. Now you must 
note that the City stood upon a mighty Hill, but the Pil- 

^ Ps. Ixxiii. 4, 5. 2 isa. xliii. 2. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 209 

grims went up that Hill with ease because they had 
these two men to lead them up by the arms ; also they 
had left their mortal Garments behind them in the River, 
for though they went in with them, they came out with- 
out them. They therefore went up here with much 
agility and speed, though the foundation upon which the 
City was framed was higher than the Clouds. They 
therefore went up through the Regions of the Air, 
sweetly talking as they went, being comforted, because 
they safely got over the River, and had such glorious 
Companions to attend them. 

The talk that they had with the Shining Ones was 
about the glory of the place, who told them that the 
beauty and glory of it was inexpressible. There, said 
they, is the Mount Sion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the 
innumerable company of Angels, and the Spirits of just 
men made perfect. ^ You are going now, said they, to 
the Paradise of God, wherein you shall see the Tree of 
Life, and eat of the never-fading fruits thereof;^ and 
when you come there, you shall have white Robes given 
you, and your walk and talk shall be every day with the 
King, even all the days of Eternity.^ There you shall 
not see again such things as you saw when you were in 
the lower Region upon the earth, to wit, sorrow, sick- 
ness, affliction, and death, for the former tilings are 
passed away. ^ You are now going to Abraham, to Isaac, 
■Awd Jacob, and to the Prophets, men that God hath taken 



Now, now, look how the holy Pilgrims ride, 
Clouds are their Chariots, Angels are their Guide: 
Who would not here for him all hazards run, 
That thus provides for his when this World's done? 



1 Heb. xii. 22-24. ^ Rev. ii. 7. 

8 Rev. iii. 4. * Rev. xxi. 4; Isa. Ivii. 1-2. 



210 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

away from the evil to come, and that are now resting 
upon their beds, each one walking in his righteousness.^ 
The men then asked, What must we do in the holy 
place ? To whom it was answered. You must there 
receive the comfort of all your toil, and have joy for all 
your sorrow ; you must reap what you have sown,^ even 
the fruit of all your Prayers and Tears, and sufferings 
for the King by the way. In that place you must wear 
Crowns of Gold, and enjoy the perpetual sight and 
vision of the Holy Qwo., for tJiere yoii shall see Jiiui as 
he is.^ There also you shall serve him continually with 
praise, with shouting, and thanksgiving, whom you 
desired to serve in the World, though with much diffi- 
culty, because of the infirmity of your flesh. There 
your eyes shall be delighted with seeing, and your ears 
with hearing the pleasant voice of the Mighty One, 
There you shall enjoy your friends again, that are gone 
thither before you ; and there you shall with joy receive 
even every one that follows into the holy place after 
you. There also shall you be cloathed with Glory and 
Majesty, and put into an equipage fit to ride out with 
the King of Glory. When he shall come with sound 
of. Trumpet in the Clouds, as upon the wings of the 
Wind,* you shall come with him ; and when he shall sit 
upon the Throne of Judgment, you shall sit by him ; 
yea, and when he shall pass sentence upon all the 
workers of iniquity, let them be Angels or Men, you 
also shall have a voice in that Judgment, because they 
were his and your Enemies. Also when he shall again 
return to the City, you shall go too, with sound of 
Trumpet, and be ever with him, 

1 Isa, Ixv. 17. 2 Qai vi. 7. ^ i John iii. 2, 

* I Thess. iv. 13-16; Jude 14; Dan. vii. 9, 10; i Cor. vi. 2, 3, 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 211 

Now while they were thus drawing towards the Gate, 
behold a company of the Heavenly Host came out to 
meet them ; to whom it was said by the other two 
Shining Ones, These are the men that have loved our 
Lord when they were in the World, and that have left 
all for his holy Name, and he hath sent us to fetch 
them, and we have brought them thus far on their 
desired Journey, that they may go in and look their 
Redeemer in the face with joy. Then the Heavenly 
Host gave a great shout, saying, Blessed are tJiey that 
are called to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb} There 
came out also at this time to meet them, several of the 
King's Trumpeters, cloathed in white and shining 
Raiment, who with melodious noises and loud, made 
even the Heavens to echo with their sound. These 
Trumpeters saluted Christian and his fellow with ten 
thousand welcomes from the World, and this they did 
with shouting and sound of Trumpet. 

This done, they compassed them round on every side ; 
some went before, some behind, and some on the right 
hand, some on the left (as 'twere to guard them through 
the upper Regions), continually sounding as they went 
with melodious noise, in notes on high : so that the 
very sight was to them that could behold it, as if Heaven 
itself was come down to meet them. Thus therefore 
they walked on together ; and as they walked, ever and 
anon these Trumpeters, even with joyful sound, would, 
by mixing their musick with looks and gestures, still 
signify to Christian and his Brother, how welcome they 
were into their company, and with what gladness they 
came to meet them ; and now were these two men as 
'twere in Heaven before they came at it, being swallowed 

^ Rev, xix. 



212 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

up with the sight of Angels, and with hearing of their 
melodious notes. Here also they had the City itself in 
view, and they thought they heard all the Bells therein 
ring to welcome them thereto. But above all, the warm 
and joyful thoughts that they had about their own 
dwelling there, with such company, and that for ever 
and ever. Oh, by what tongue or pen can their glorious 
joy be expressed ! And thus they came up to the Gate. 

Now when they were come up to the Gate, there was 
written over it in Letters of Gold, Blessed are they that 
do his Comtnandments, that they may have right to the 
Tree of Life, and may ejiter in through the Gates into 
the City} 

Then I saw in my Dream, that the Shining Men bid 
them call at the Gate ; the which when they did, some 
from above looked over the Gate, to wit, Enoch, Moses, 
and Elijah, &c. to whom it was said. These Pilgrims 
are come from the City of Destructio7i for the love that 
they bear to the King of this place ; and then the 
Pilgrims gave in unto them each man his Certificate, 
which they had received in the beginning; those there- 
fore were carried in to the King, who when he had read 
them, said. Where are the men.-* To whom it was 
answered, They are standing without the Gate. The 
King then commanded to open the Gate, That the 
righteous nation, said he, that keepeth Truth may enter 
in? 

Now I saw in my Dream that these two men went in 
at the Gate : and lo, as they entered, they were trans- 
figured, and they had Raiment put on that shone like 
Gold. There was also that met them with Harps and 
Crowns, and gave them to them, the Harps to praise 

1 Rev. xxii. 14. ^ Isa. xxvi. 2. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 213 

withal, and the Crowns in token of honour. Then I 
heard in my Dream that all the Bells in the City rang 
again for joy, and that it was said unto them, Enter ye 
into the Joy of your Lord. I also heard the men them- 
selves, that they sang with a loud voice, saying. Blessing; 
Hottour, Glory, and Power, be to him that sitteth upon the 
Throne, and to the Lamb for ever and ever} 

Now just as the Gates were opened to let in the men, 
I looked in after them, and behold the City shone like 
the Sun ; the Streets also were paved with Gold, and in 
them walked many men, with Crowns on their heads. 
Palms in their hands, and golden Harps to sing praises 
withal. 

There were also of them that had wings, and they 
answered one another without intermission, saying. Holy, 
Holy, Holy is the Lord. And after that they shut up 
the Gates. Which when I had seen I wished myself 
among them. 

Now while I was gazing upon all these things, I turned 
my head to look back, and saw Ignorance come up to the 
River-side ; but he soon got over, and that without half 
that difficulty which the other two men met with. For 
it happened that there was then in that place one Vain- 
hope a Ferry-man, that with his Boat helped him over ; 
so he, as the other I saw, did ascend the Hill to come 
up to the Gate, only he came alone ; neither did any man 
meet him with the least encouragement. When he was 
come up to the Gate, he looked up to the writing that 
was above, and then began to knock, supposing that 
entrance should have been quickly administered to him ; 
but he was asked by the men that looked over the top 
of the Gate, Whence came you t and what would you 

J Rev, V. 13, 



214. THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

have ? He answered, I have eat and drank in the pres- 
ence of the King, and he has taught in our Streets. 
Then they asked him for his Certificate, that they might 
go in and shew it to the King. So he fumbled in his 
bosom for one, and found none. Then said they. Have 
you none .-' But the man answered never a word. So 
they told the King, but he would not come down to see 
him, but commanded the two Shining Ones that con- 
ducted Christian and Hopeful to the City, to go out aiid 
take Ignorance, and bind him hand and foot, and have 
him away. Then they took him up, and carried him 
through the air to the door that I saw in the side of 
the Hill, and put him in there. Then I saw that there 
was a way to Hell even from the Gates of Heaven, as 
well as from the City of Destruction. So I awoke, and 
behold it was a Dream. 



THE CONCLUSION. 

Now Reader, I have told my Dream to thee ; 
See if thou canst interpret it to me. 
Or to thyself, or Neighbor ; but take heed 
Of mis-interpreting ; for that, instead 
Of doing good, will but thyself abuse : 
By mis-interpreting, evil insues. 

Take heed also, that thou be not extreme 
In playing with the out-side of my Dream : 
Nor let my figure or similitude 
Put thee into a laughter or a feud ; 
Leave this for Boys and Fools ; but as for thee, 
Do thou the substance of my matter see. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 215 

Put by the Curtains, look within my Vail ; 
Turn up thy Metaphors, and do not fail 
There, if thou seekest them, such things to find, 
As will be helpful to an honest mind. 

What of my dross thou findest there, be bold 
To throw away, but yet preserve the Gold ; 
What if my Gold be rapt up in Ore ? 
None throws away the Apple for the Core. 
But if tlioit shall cast all aivay as vain, 
I kiioiv not btct 'tivill make nie Dream again. 



NOTES. 

John Bunyan was born at Elstow, near Bedford, in 1628. His father 
was a tinker, and the boy received very httle education. Early in hfe he 
enlisted in the Parliamentary Army. Having been baptized in 1653, he 
soon afterwards began to preach, for which, in 1660, he was imprisoned in 
Bedford jail. Here he remained for twelve years. During his confine- 
ment he wrote several works, the best known of which is "The Pilgrim's 
Progress from this World to that which is to Come." It was not published 
until 1678. Its popularity was such that it soon went through numerous 
editions, and has been translated into all languages. A second part 
appeared in 1684. The first collected edition of his works was published 
in 1767. Dr. Johnson says: " His ' Pilgrim's Progress' has great merit, 
both for invention, imagination, and the conduct of the story; and it has 
had the best evidence of its merit, the general and continued approbation 
of mankind." Lord Macaulay says: " Bunyan is as decidedly the first of 
allegorists as Demosthenes is the first of orators, or Shakespeare the first of 
dramatists." 

So direct and simple is the story of the " Pilgrim's Progress," that few 
explanatory notes are necessary. The narrative is itself its best commen- 
tary. "The attempts which have been made to improve and to imitate 
this book," says Macaulay, "are not to be numbered. It has been done 
into verse; it has been done into modern English. 'The Pilgrimage of 
Tender Conscience,' the ' Pilgrimage of Good Intent,' the ' Pilgrimage 



216 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

of Seek Truth,' 'The Pilgrimage of Theophilus,' 'The Infant Pilgrim,' 
'The Hindoo Pilgrim,' are among the feeble copies of the great original. 
But the peculiar glory of Bunyan is that those who most hated his doctrines 
have tried to borrow the help of his genius. A Catholic version of his par- 
able may be seen with the head of the Virgin in the title-page. On the 
other hand, those Antinomians for whom his Calvinism is not strong enough 
may study the ' pilgrimage of Hephzibah,' in which nothing will be found 
which can be construed into an admission of free agency and universal re- 
demption. But the most extraordinary of all the acts of Vandalism by which 
a fine work of art was ever defaced, was committed so late as the year 1853. 
It was determined to transform the ' Pilgrim's Progress' into a Tractarian 
book. The task was not easy, for it was necessary to make the two sacra- 
ments the most prominent objects in the allegory; and of all Christian theo- 
logians, avowed Quakers excepted, Bunyan was the one in whose system the 
sacraments held the least prominent place. However, the Wicket Gate 
became a type of Baptism, and the House Beautiful, of the Eucharist. The 
effect of this change is such as assuredly the ingenious person who made it 
never contemplated. For, as not a single pilgrim passes through the Wicket 
Gate in infancy, and as Faithful hurries past the House Beautiful without 
stopping, the lesson, which the fable in its altered shape teaches, is that 
none but adults ought to be baptized, and that the Eucharist may safely be 
neglected. . . . Such blunders must necessarily be committed by every 
man who mutilates parts of a great work, without taking a comprehensive 
view of the whole." 



Ejje Fision of IHir^a, 

By JOSEPH ADDISON. 



0>«^C 



Omnem quae nunc obducta tuenti 
Mortales hebetat visus tibi, et humida circum 
Caligat, nubem eripiam. — Virgil. 

When I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up several Ori- 
ental manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among 
others, I met with one entitled "The Visions of Mirza," 
which I have read with great pleasure. I intend to give 
it to the public when I have no other entertainment for 
them, and shall begin with the first vision, which I 
have translated word for word, as follows : 

On the fifth day of the moon — which, according to 
the custom of my forefathers, I always keep holy — 
after having washed myself and offered up my morning 
devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdat, in order 
to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. 
As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, 
I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of 
human life ; and, passing from one thought to another, 
"Surely," said I, "man is but a shadow, and life a 
dream." 

While I was musing, I cast my eyes towards the 
summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I dis- 
covered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a little 
musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon him, 

217 



218 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

he applied it to his lips, and began to play upon it. The 
sound of it was exceedingly sweet, and wrought into a 
variety of tunes that was inexpressibly melodious, and 
altogether different from anything I had ever heard. 
They put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are 
played to the departed souls of good men upon their 
first arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions of 
the last agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of 
that happy place. My heart melted away in secret 
raptures, 

I had been often told that the rock before me was 
the haunt of a genius, and that several had been enter- 
tained with music who passed by it, but never heard 
that the musician had before made himself visible. When 
he had raised my thoughts by those transporting airs 
which he played, to taste the pleasures of his conversa- 
tion, as I looked upon him like one astonished, he 
beckoned to me, and by the waving of his hand, directed 
me to approach the place where he sat. 

I drew near with that reverence which is due to a 
superior nature ; and, as my heart was entirely subdued 
by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at 
his feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a 
look of compassion and affability that familiarized him 
to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears 
and apprehensions with which I approached him. He 
lifted me from the ground, and, taking me by the hand, 
" Mirza," said he, " I have heard thee in thy soliloquies. 
Follow me ! " 

He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, 
and, placing me on the top of it, " Cast thine eyes east- 
ward," said he, "and tell me what thou seest." " I see," 
said I, "a huge valley, and a prodigious tide of water 



THE VISION OF MIRZA. 219 

running through it." "The valley that thou seest," 
said he, "is the vale of misery, and the tide of water 
that thou seest is part of the great tide of eternity." 
" What is the reason," said I, " that the tide I see rises 
out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a 
thick mist at the other .''" "What thou seest," said he, 
" is that portion of eternity which is called Time, meas- 
ured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning 
of the world to its consummation." 

"Examine now," said he, "this sea that is bounded 
with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou 
discoverest in it." "I see a bridge," said I, "standing 
in the midst of the tide." "The bridge thou seest," said 
he, "is Human Life; consider it attentively." Upon 
a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted 
of three-score and ten entire arches, with several broken 
arches, which, added to those that were entire, made up 
the number to about a hundred. As I was counting 
the arches, the genius told me that this bridge consisted 
at first of a thousand arches, but that a great flood 
swept away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous 
condition I now beheld it. 

"But tell me further," said he, "what thou discover- 
est on it." " I see multitudes of people passing over 
it," said I, "and a black cloud hanging on each end of 
it." As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the 
passengers dropping through the bridge into the great 
tide that flowed underneath it ; and, upon further exam- 
ination, perceived there were innumerable trap-doors that 
lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no 
sooner trod upon but they fell through them into the 
tide, and immediately disappeared. These hidden pit- 
falls were set very thick at the entrance of the bridge, 



220 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

SO that throngs of people no sooner broke through the 
cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew 
thinner toward the middle, but multiplied and lay closer 
together toward the end of the arches that were entire. 

There were, indeed, some persons, but their num- 
ber was very small, that continued a kind of hobbling 
march on the broken arches, but fell through one after 
another, being quite tired and spent with so long a walk. 
I passed some time in the contemplation of this won- 
derful structure, and the great variety of objects which 
it presented. My heart was filled with a deep melan- 
choly to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst 
of mirth and jollity, and catching at everything that 
stood by them to save themselves. Some were look- 
ing up toward the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and, 
in the midst of speculation, stumbled, and fell out of 
sight. 

Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles 
that glittered in their eyes and danced before them ; 
but often, when they thought themselves within the 
reach of them, their footing failed, and down they sank. 
In this confusion of objects I observed some with cime- 
ters in their hands, who ran to and fro upon the bridge, 
thrusting several persons on trap-doors which did not 
seem to lie in their way, and which they might have 
escaped had they not been thus forced upon them. 

The genius, seeing me indulge myself on this melan- 
choly prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon 
it. "Take thine eyes off the bridge," said he, "and 
tell me if thou seest anything thou dost not compre- 
hend." Upon looking up, " What mean," said I, "those 
great flights of birds that are perpetually hovering 
about the bridge, and settling upon it from time to 



THE VISION OF MIRZA. 11\ 

time ? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and, 
among many other feathered creatures, several little 
winged boys, that perch in great numbers upon the mid- 
dle arches." " These," said the genuis, " are Envy, Ava- 
rice, Superstition, Despair, Love, with the like cares 
and passions that infest Human Life." 

I here fetched a deep sigh. "Alas," said I, "man 
was made in vain ! How is he given away to misery 
and mortality! — tortured in life, and swallowed up in 
death ! " The genius, being moved in compassion 
toward me, bade me quit so uncomfortable a prospect. 
"Look no more," said he, "on man in the first stage of 
his existence, in his setting out for eternity, but cast 
thine eye on that thick mist into which the tide bears 
the several generations of mortals that fall into it." I 
directed my sight as I was ordered, and (whether or no 
the good genius strengthened it with any supernatural 
force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too 
thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley open- 
ing at the farther end, and spreading forth into an im- 
mense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant running 
through the midst of it, and dividing it into two equal 
parts. 

The clouds still rested on one-half of it, insomuch 
that I could discover nothing in it ; but the other 
appeared to me a vast ocean planted with innumerable 
islands, that were covered with fruits and flowers, and 
interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran 
among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious 
habits, with garlands upon their heads, passing among 
the trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, or rest- 
ing on beds of flowers, and could hear a confused har- 
mony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and 



.222 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

musical instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the 
discovery of so delightful a scene. 

I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly- 
away to those happy seats ; but the genius told me 
there was no passage to them except through the gates 
of death that I saw opening every moment upon the 
bridge. " The islands," said he, " that lie so fresh and 
green before thee, and with which the whole face of the 
ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more 
in number than the sands on the sea-shore ; there are 
myriads of islands behind those which thou here dis- 
coverest, reaching farther than thine eye, or even thine 
imagination, can extend itself. 

" These are the mansions of good men after death, 
who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue in 
which they excelled, are distributed among these several 
islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds 
and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of 
those who are settled in them. Every island is a para- 
dise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are 
not these, O Mirza ! habitations worth contending for? 
Does life appear miserable, that gives the opportunities 
of earning such a reward } Is death to be feared, that 
will convey thee to so happy an existence .-* Think not 
man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved 
for him." I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these 
happy islands. 

At length said I : " Show me now, I beseech thee, 
the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which 
cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of ada- 
mant." The genius making me no answer, I turned 
about to address myself to him a second time, but I 
found that he had left me. I then turned asain to the 



THE VISION OF MIRZA. IIZ 

vision which I had been so long contemplating, but, in- 
stead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the 
happy islands, I saw nothing but the long, hollow valley 
of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon 
the sides of it. 



NOTES. 

Joseph Addison was born at Wiltshire, England, in 1672. He was 
educated at Oxford, where he distinguished himself for his Latin verses. 
His first was published in his twenty-second year. In 1704 he wrote 
"The Campaign," in celebration of the English victory at Blenheim, and 
in reward for it was appointed Under Secretary of State. His tragedy of 
" Cato " was presented in one of the London theatres in 1 703, where it 
met with much favor. But it is to his essays in "The Spectator" (171 1, 
1712) that the permanence of his fame is due. His opera, " Rosamond," 
was performed in 1706. He also wrote Prologues and Epilogues to various 
plays; among others the Prologue to "The Tender Husband" and the 
Epilogue to Lord Landsdovvne's " British Enchanters." He died at Hol- 
land House on the 17th of June, 1719. 

" Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, 
and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the 
volumes of Addison." — Dr. Johnson. 

1. The "Vision of Mirza " comprises Number 159 of the "Spectator," 
and bears the date of Saturday, September i, 171 1. "The Spectator" 
was at first a daily publication, each number usually containing a single 
essay. The first number was published March i, 171 1. Most of the 
essays were contributed by Addison and Sir Richard Steele, although a 
few were written by Swift, Budgell, and others. The paper was discon- 
tinued December 6, 1712, but was resumed as a tri-weekly in 1714, and 
eighty additional numbers were issued. 

"The earliest composition that I recollect taking pleasure in," said 
Robert Burns, " was the ' Vision of Mirza.' " 

2. "The cloud which, intercepting the clear light 

Hangs o'er thy eyes and blunts thy mortal sight, 
I will remove." — Virgil, yEneid, ii. 604. 



Ejje l^aratiise of JFools» 

By THOMAS PARNELL. 

Our defects and follies are too often unknown to us : 
nay, they are so far from being known to us, that they 
pass for demonstrations of our worth. This makes us 
easy in the midst of them, fond to show them, fond to 
improve in them, and to be esteemed for them. Then 
it is that a thousand unaccountable conceits, gay in- 
ventions, and extravagant actions must afford us pleas- 
ures, and display us to others in the colors which we 
ourselves take a fancy to glory in : and indeed there is 
something so amusing for the time in this state of 
vanity and ill-grounded satisfaction, that even the wiser 
world has chosen an exalted word to describe its en- 
chantments, and called it the Paradise of Fools. 

Perhaps the latter part of this reflection may seem a 
false thought to some, and bear another turn than what 
I have given ; but it is at present none of my business 
to look after it, who am going to confess that I have 
been lately amongst them in a vision. 

Methought I was transported to a hill, green, flowery, 
and of an easy ascent. Upon the broad top of it resided 
squint-eyed Error, and popular Opiiiion with many heads ; 
two that dealt in sorcery, and were famous for bewitch- 
ing people with the love of themselves. To these 
224 



THE PARADISE OF FOOLS. 225 

repaired a multitude from every side, by two different 
paths which lead towards each of them. Some who 
had the most assuming air, went directly of themselves 
to Error, without expecting a conductor ; others of a 
softer nature went first to popular Opinion, from whence 
as she influenced and engaged them with their own 
praises, she delivered them over to his government. 

When we had ascended to an open part of the sum- 
mit where Opi)iio7i abode, we found her entertaining 
several who had arrived before us. Her voice was 
pleasing ; she breathed odors as she spoke : she seemed 
to have a tongue for every one ; every one thought he 
heard of something that was valuable in himself, and 
expected a paradise, which she promised as the reward 
of his merit. Thus were we drawn to follow her, till 
she should bring us where it was to be bestowed; and 
it was observable that all the way we went, the com- 
pany was either praising themselves for their qualifica- 
tions, or one another for those qualifications which they 
took to be conspicuous in their own characters, or dis- 
praising others for wanting theirs, or vying in the 
degrees of them. 

At last we approached a bower, at the entrance of 
which Error was seated. The trees were thick-woven, 
and the place where he sat artfully contrived to darken 
him a little. He was disguised in a whitish robe, which 
he had put on, that he might appear to us with a nearer 
resemblance to TrntJi: and as she has a light whereby 
she manifests the beauties of nature to the eyes of her 
adorers, so he had provided himself with a magical wand, 
that he might do something in imitation of it, and please 
with delusions. This he lifted solemnly, and muttering 
to himself, bid the glories which he kept under enchant- 



226 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

ment to appear before us. Immediately we cast our 
eyes on that part of the sky to which he pointed, and 
observed a thin blue prospect, which cleared as moun- 
tains in a summer morning when the mists go off, and 
the palace of Vanity appeared to sight. 

The foundation hardly seemed a foundation, but a set 
of curling clouds, which it stood upon by magical con- 
trivance. The way by which we ascended was painted 
Hke a rainbow ; and as we went the breeze that played 
about us bewitched the senses. The walls were gilded 
all for show ; the lowest set of pillars were of the slight 
fine Coi'inthian order, and the top of the building being 
rounded, bore so far the resemblance of a bubble. 

At the gate the travellers neither met with a porter, 
nor waited till one should appear ; every one thought 
his merits a sufficient passport, and pressed forward. 
In the hall we met with several phantoms, that roved 
amongst us, and ranged the company according to their 
sentiments. There was decreasing Honor, that had 
nothing to show in but an old coat of his ancestors' 
achievements ; there was Ostentation, that made himself 
his own constant subject, and Gallantry strutting upon 
his tiptoes. At the upper end of the hall stood a throne, 
whose canopy glittered with all the riches that gayety 
could contrive to lavish on it ; and between the gilded 
arms sat Vanity, decked in the peacock's feathers, and 
acknowledged for another Venus by her votaries. The 
boy who stood beside her for a Cupid, and who made 
the world to bow before her, was called Self-Conceit. His 
eyes had every now and then a cast inwards to the 
neglect of all objects about him ; and the arms which 
he made use of for conquest were borrowed from those 
against whom he had a design. The arrow which he 



THE PARADISE OF FOOLS. Ill 

shot at the soldiers was fledged from his own plume of 
feathers ; the dart he directed against the man of wit 
was winged from the quills he writ with ; and that 
which he sent against those who presumed upon their 
riches was headed with gold out of their treasuries. He 
made nets for statesmen from their own contrivances ; 
he took fire from the eyes of ladies, with which he 
melted their hearts ; and lightning from the tongues of 
the eloquent, to inflame them with their own glories. 
At the foot of the throne sat three false graces. Flattery 
with a shell of paint, Affectation with a mirror to prac- 
tise at, and Fashion ever changing the posture of her 
cloths. These applied themselves to secure the con- 
quests which Self-Conceit had gotten, and had each of 
them their particular politics. Flattery gave new colors 
and complexions to all things. Affectation new airs and 
appearances, which, as she said, were not vulgar, and 
Fashion both concealed some home defects, and added 
some foreign external beauties. 

As I was reflecting upon what I saw, I heard a voice 
in the crowd bemoaning the condition of mankind, 
which is thus managed by the breath of Opinion, deluded 
by Error, fired by Self-Conceit, and given up to be 
trained in all the courses of Vanity, till Scorn or Pov- 
erty come upon us. These expressions were no sooner 
handed about, but I immediately saw a general disorder, 
till at last there was a parting in one place, and a grave 
old man, decent and resolute, was led forward to be pun- 
ished for the words he had uttered. He appeared in- 
clined to have spoken in his own defence, but I could 
not observe that any one was willing to hear him. 
Vanity cast a scornful smile at him ; Self-Conceit was 
angry; Flattery, who knew him for Plain-Dealing, put 



228 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

on a vizard, and turned away ; Affectation tossed her 
fan, made mouths, and called him Envy or Slander ; 
and FasJiion would have it that, at least, he must be 
Ill-Manners. Thus slighted and despised by all, he was 
driven out for abusing people of merit and figure ; and 
I heard it firmly resolved that he should be used no 
better wherever they met with him hereafter. 

I had already seen the meaning of most part of that 
warning which he had given, and was considering how 
the latter words should be fulfilled, when a mighty noise 
was heard without, and the door was blackened by a 
numerous train of harpies crowding in upon us. Folly 
and Broken Credit were seen in the house before they 
entered. Trouble, S/uune, Lifamy, Scorn, and Poverty 
brought up the rear. Vanity, with her Cupid and 
Graces, disappeared ; her subjects ran into holes and 
corners ; but many of them were found and carried off 
(as I was told by one who stood near me) either to 
prisons or cellars, solitude, or little company, the meaner 
arts or the viler craf !:s of life. But these, added he, with 
a disdainful air, are such who would fondly live here, 
when their merits neither matched the lustre of the 
place, nor their riches its expenses. We have seen such 
scenes as these before now ; the glory you saw will all 
return when the hurry is over. I thanked him for his 
information, and believing him so incorrigible as that he 
would stay till it was his turn to be taken, I made off 
to the door, and overtook some few, who, though they 
would not barken to Plain- Dealing, were now terrified 
to good purpose by the example of others. But when 
they had touched the threshold, it was a strange shock 
to them to find that the delusion of Error was gone, 
and they plainly discerned the building to hang a little 



THE PARADISE OF FOOLS. 119 

up in the air without any real foundation. At first we 
saw nothing but a desperate leap remained for us, and 
I a thousand times blamed my unmeaning curiosity that 
had brought me into so much danger. But as they 
began to sink lower in their own minds, methought the 
palace sunk along with us, till they were arrived at the 
due point of Esteem which they ought to have for them- 
selves ; then the part of the building in which they 
stood touched the earth, and we departing out, it retired 
from our eyes. Now, whether they who stayed in the 
palace were sensible of this descent, I cannot tell ; it 
was then my opinion that they were not. However it 
be, my dream broke up at it, and has given me occasion 
all my life to reflect upon the fatal consequences of fol- 
lowing the suggestions of Vanity. 



NOTE. 

" Thomas Parnell, the writer of this allegory, was the son of a com- 
monwealthsman, who at the Restoration ceased to live on his hereditary 
lands at Congleton, in Cheshire, and bought an estate in Ireland. Born in 
1679, at Dublin, where he became M.A. of Trinity College, in 1700 he was 
ordained after taking his degree, and in 1705 became archdeacon of Clog- 
her. At the same time he took a wife, who died in 171 1. Parnell had been 
an associate of the chief Whig writers, had taste as a poet, and found pleas- 
ure in writing for the papers of the time. When the Whigs went out of 
power in Queen Anne's reign, Parnell connected himself with the Tories. 
On the warm recommendation of Swift, he obtained a prebend in 1 71 3, 
and in May, 1716, a vicarage in the diocese of Dublin, worth ^400 a year. 
He died in July, 171 7, aged thirty-eight. Inheriting his father's estates in 
Cheshire and Ireland, Parnell was not in need. Wanting vigor and passion, 
he was neither formidable nor bitter as a political opponent, and in 1 71 2 his 
old friends, Steele and Addison, were glad of a paper from him; though, 
with Swift, he had gone over to the other side in politics." — MoRLEY. 

This allegory is the 460th nmnber of " The Spectator," and was pub- 
lished August 18, 1 712. 



Efje Castle of Introlence, 



o>*ic 



In the year 1506, Alexander Barclay, the author of 
the " Shyp of Fooles,"^ translated from the French an 
allegory called "The Castel of Laboure," "wherein is 
riches, virtue, and honour." This piece was of consider- 
able length but of small merit, and represented Lady 
Reason conquering Despair, Poverty, and the kindred 
evils which beset a man newly married. About the year 
1536 another French allegory of similar character and 
bearing the same name was translated into English by 
Bishop Alcock. These poems, if poems they may be 
called, probably supplied James Thomson with some 
remote suggestions of an allegory which he finally 
published in 1748 under the title of "The Castle of 
Indolence." In its original form the poem consisted 
simply of some disconnected stanzas intended by the 
author to ridicule his own indolence and that of a few 
friends. But, borrowing ideas from the French works 
mentioned above, from Tasso, from Spenser, and from 
an obscure poem on "Indolence" written by a certain 
Joseph Mitchell, and to these adding from his own no 
small stock of imagination and fancy, he was able to 
construct, after fifteen years' labor, an allegory which 
is truly delightful. The "Castle of Indolence" is con- 
tained in two cantos. The first canto describes 

230 ^ ^^^ P^g^ ^S- 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 231 

The castle hight of Indolence, 

And its false luxury ; 
Where for a little time, alas ! 

We lived right joUily. 

The second canto is decidedly inferior to the first. It 

relates to 

The Knight of Arts and Industry, 

And his achievements fair ; 
That, by this castle's overthrow, 

Secured and crowned were. 

It does not admit of such a pleasing variety of im- 
agery, and the matter which it contains is of a more 
conventional and less poetic character. And yet its 
merits are of no mean order. 



EXTRACTS FROM "THE CASTLE OF 
INDOLENCE."! 

THE LAND OF DROWSINESS. 

In lowly dale, fast by a river's side, 

With woody hill o'er hill encompass'd round, 

A most enchanting wizard did abide, 

Than whom a fiend more felP is nowhere found. 

It was, I ween,^ a lovely spot of ground ; 



1 " This poem being writ in the manner of Spenser, the obsolete words, 
and a simpHcity of diction in some of the Hnes, which borders on the ludi- 
crous, were necessary to make the imitation more perfect. And the style 
of that admirable poet, as well as the measure in which he wrote, are, as 
it were, appropriated by custom to allegorical poems writ in our language; 
just as in French the style of Marot, who lived under Francis I., has been 
used in tales and familiar epistles by the political writers of the age of 
Louis XIV." — Author's Advertisement. 

^ cruel. ^ think, fancy. 



232 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And there a season atween June and May, 

Half prankt ^ with spring, with summer half im- 

browned, 
A listless climate made, where, sooth ^ to say. 
No living wight could work, ne ^ car^d even for play. 

Was naught around but images of rest : 
Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between ; 
And flowery beds that slumberous influence kest. 
From poppies breathed, and beds of pleasant green, 
Where never yet was creeping creature seen. 
Meantime, unnumbered glittering streamlets played 
And hurled everywhere their waters sheen ;^ 
That, as they bickered ^ through the sunny glade. 
Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur 
made. 

Joined to the prattle of the purling rills 
Were heard the lowing herds along the vale, 
And flocks loud bleating from the distant hills 
And vacant shepherds piping in the dale : 
And, now and then, sweet Philomel ^ would wail, 
Or stockdoves plain amid the forest deep, 
That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale ; 
And still a coiF the grasshoper did keep ; 
Yet all these sounds yblent ^ inclined all to sleep. 

Full in the passage of the vale, above, 

A sable, silent, solemn forest stood. 

Where naught but shadowy forms were seen to move. 

As Idleness fancied in her dreaming mood ; 



^ decorated. ^ truth. ^ nor. * bright. ^ rippled. 

^ The nightingale. '' noise, bustle. ^ blended. 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 233 

And up the hills, on either side, a wood 
Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro, 
Send forth a sleepy horror through the blood ; 
And where this valley winded out, below, 
The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to 
flow. 

A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, 
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye ; 
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 
Forever flushing round a summer-sky : 
There eke the soft delights, that witchingly 
Instill a wanton sweetness through the breast ; 
And the calm pleasures always hovered nigh ; 
But whate'er smacked ^ of noyance ^ or unrest, 
Was far, far off expelled from this delicious nest. 

The landscape such, inspiring perfect ease, 
Where Indolence (for so the wizard hight^) 
Close-hid his castle mid embowering trees. 
That half shut out the beams of Phoebus bright, 
And made a kind of checkered day and night : 
Meanwhile unceasing at the massy gate 
Beneath a spacious palm, the wicket wight 
Was placed ; and to his lute, of cruel fate 
And labor harsh, complain'd, lamenting man's estate. 

Thither continual pilgrims crowded still, 
From all the roads of earth that pass there by : 
For, as they chaunced to breath on neighboring hill, 
The freshness of this valley smote their eye. 
And drew them ever and anon more nigh ; 

^ tasted. 2 trouble. ' was called. 



234 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Till clustering round the enchanter false they hung, 
Ymolten ^ with his siren melody ; 
While o'er the enfeebling lute his hand he flung, 
And to the trembling chords these tempting verses 
sung : 

" Here naught but candor reigns, indulgent ease. 
Good-natured lounging, sauntering up and down. 
They who are pleas'd themselves must always please ; 
On others' ways they never squint a frown. 
Nor heed what haps in hamlet or in town. 
Thus from the source of tender Indolence, 
With milky blood the heart is overflown, 
Is sooth'd and sweeten'd by the social sense ; 
For interest, envy, pride, and strife are banish'd hence. 

" What, what is virtue, but repose of mind, 
A pure ethereal calm, that knows no storm ; 
Above the reach of wild ambition's wind. 
Above those passions that this world deform. 
And torture man, a proud malignant worm .-* 
But here, instead, soft gales of passion play. 
And gently stir the heart, thereby to form 
A quicker sense of joy : as breezes stray 
Across the enhven'd skies, and make them still more 

gay. 

" The best of men have ever lov'd repose : 
They hate to mingle in the filthy fray ; 
Where the soul sours, and gradual rancor grows, 
Imbitter'd more from peevish day to day. 
E'en those whom fame has lent her fairest ray, 
The most renown'd of worthy wights of yore, 

^ melted. 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 235 

From a base world at last have stolen away : 
So Scipio,^ to the soft Curaaean shore 
Retiring, tasted joy he never knew before. 

" But if a little exercise you choose, 
Some zest for ease, 'tis not forbidden here : 
Amid the groves you may indulge the muse. 
Or tend the blooms^ and deck the vernal year; 
Or softly stealing, with your watery gear. 
Along the brooks, the crimson-spotted fry 
You may delude ; the whilst, amused, you hear 
Now the hoarse stream, and now the zephyr's sigh 
Attuned to the birds, and woodland melody. 

" O grievous folly ! to heap up estate, 
Losing the days you see beneath the sun ; 
When, sudden, comes blind unrelenting fate, 
And gives the untasted portion you have won 
With ruthless toil, and many a wretch undone, 
To those who mock you, gone to Pluto's reign. 
There with sad ghosts to pine, and shadows dun : 
But sure it is of vanities most vain. 
To toil for what you here untoiling may obtain." 

He ceased. But still their trembling ears retained 
The deep vibrations of his witching song ; 
That by a kind of magic power, constrain'd 
To enter in, pell mell,^ the listening throng. 
Heaps pour'd on heaps and yet they slipp'd along, 
In silent ease : as when beneath the beam 



^ See note 3, page 59. ^ flowers. 

3 headlong. As the players of pall-mall rush into the game. From 
Italian /a//a, ball, and maglia, mallet. 



236 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Of summer-moons, the distant woods among, 
Or by some flood all silver'd with the gleam, 
The soft-embodied fays^ through airy portal stream. 



THE INTERIOR OF THE CASTLE. 

The doors that knew no shrill alarming bell, 
Ne cursed knocker plied by villain's hand, 
Self-open'd into halls, where, who can tell 
What elegance and grandeur wide expand ; 
The pride of Turkey and of Persia land ? 
Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread, 
And couches stretch'd around in seemly band ; 
And endless pillows rise to prop the head ; 
So that each spacious room was one full-swelling bed. 

And everywhere huge cover'd tables stood. 
With wines high-flavored and rich viands crown'd ; 
Whatever sprightly juice or tasteful food 
On the green bosom of this earth are found, 
And all old ocean 'genders in his round, 
Some hand unseen these silently display'd. 
Even undemanded by a sign or sound ; 
You need but wish, and, instantly obey'd. 
Fair ranged the dishes rose, and thick the glasses 
play'd. 

Here freedom reign'd, without the least alloy ; 
Nor gossip's tale, nor ancient maiden's gall. 
Nor saintly spleen, durst murmur at our joy, 
And with envenom'd tongue our pleasures pall. 
For why .-' there was but one great rule for all ; 

^ fairies. 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 237 

To wit, that each should work his own desire, 
And eat, drink, study, sleep, as it may fall, 
Or melt the time in love, or wake the lyre, 
And carol what, unbid, the muses might inspire. 

The rooms with costly tapestry were hung 
Where was inwoven many a gentle tale, 
Such as of old the rural poets sung, 
Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale ; 
Reclining lovers in the lonely dale, 
Pour'd forth at large the sweetly tortured heart ; 
Or, sighing tender passion, swell'd the gale. 
And taught charm'd echo to resound their smart ; 
While flocks, woods, streams around, repose and peace 
impart. 

Those pleased the most, where, by a cunning hand, 
Depainted was the patriarchal age ; 
What time Dan ^ Abraham left the Chaldee land, 
And pastured on from verdant stage to stage. 
Where fields and fountains fresh could best engage. 
Toil was not then ; of nothing took they heed. 
But with wild beasts the sylvan war to wage. 
And o'er vast plains their herds and flocks to feed : 
Bless'd sons of nature they ! true golden age indeed ! 

Sometimes the pencil, in cool airy halls. 
Bade the gay bloom of vernal landscapes rise. 
Or Autumn's varied shades imbrown the walls ; 
Now the black tempest strikes the astonished eyes ; 
Now down the steep the flashing torrent flies ; 
The trembling sun now plays o'er ocean blue, 



1 Dan. A title of honor, often used by the old poets, as Dan Cupid, 
Dan Chaucer, etc. From Spanish don. 



238 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And now rude mountains frown amid the skies ; 
Whate'er Lorraine ^ light-touch'd with softening hue, 
Or savage Rosa^ dash'd, or learned Poussin^ drew. 

Each sound too here to languishment inclined 
Lull'd the weak bosom, and induced ease ; 
Aerial music in the warbling wind, 
At distance rising oft, by small degrees, 
Nearer and nearer came, till o'er the trees 
It hung, and breath'd such soul-dissolving airs, 
As did, alas ! with soft perdition please : 
Entangled deep in its enchanting snares, 
The listening heart forgot all duties and all cares. 

A certain music, never known before. 
Here lull'd the pensive, melancholy mind ; 
Full easily obtained. Behooves no more, 
But sidelong, to the gently waving wind, 
To lay the well-tuned instrument reclined ; 
From which, with airy flying fingers light, 
Beyond each mortal touch the most refined. 
The god of winds drew sound of deep delight : 
Whence, with just cause, the harp of ^olus^ it hight. 

Ah me ! what hand can touch the string so fine 
Who up the lofty diapason^ roll 



^ Claude Lorraine, landscape painter, 1600-1682. 

2 Salvator Rosa, painter, poet, musician, 1615-1673. 

^ Nicolas Poussin, one of the most remarkable artists of his age, 1593- 
1665. 

* The ^olian harp. So called from y^olus, the god of the winds. 
Being placed where a current of air strikes the strings, it produces 
irregular musical sounds. 

^ A chord which includes all tones. From Greek dia, through, and 
pas, all. 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 239 

Such sweet, such sad, such solemn airs divine, 
Then let them down again into the soul ! 
Now rising love they fann'd ; now pleasing dole ^ 
They breathed, in tender musings through the heart; 
And now a graver sacred strain they stole, 
As when seraphic hands a hymn impart : 
Wild warbling nature all, above the reach of art. 



SIR INDUSTRY. 



Amid the greenwood shade this boy was bred, 
And grew at last a knight of mucheP fame. 
Of active mind and vigorous lustyhed,^ 
The Knight of Arts and Industry by name : 
Earth was his bed, the boughs his roof did frame ; 
He knew no beverage but the flowing stream; 
His tasteful well-earn'd food the sylvan game. 
Or the brown fruit with which the woodlands teem ; 
The same to him glad summer, or the winter breme.'* 

So pass'd his youthly morning, void of care, 
Wild as the colts that through the commons run : 
For him no tender parents troubled were, 
He of the forest seem'd to be the son, 
And, certes, had been utterly undone ; 
But that Minerva pity of him took. 
With all the gods that love the rural wonne,* 
That teach to tame the soil and rule the crook ; 
Ne did the sacred Nine*^ disdain a gentle look. 



1 grief, affliction. ^ niuch. ^ enterprise. * fierce, furious. 
^ or woning — dwelling. ^ The nine Muses. 



240 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Of fertile genius him they nurtured well, 
In every science, and in every art. 
By which mankind the thoughtless brutes excel, 
That can or^ use, or joy, or grace impart. 
Disclosing all the powers of head and heart ; 
Ne were the goodly exercises spared. 
That brace the nerves, or makes the limbs alert, 
And mix elastic force with firmness hard : 
Was never knight on ground mote be with him com- 
pared. 

Sometimes, with early morn, he mounted gay 
The hunter steed, exulting o'er the dale. 
And drew the roseate breath of orient day ; 
Sometimes, retiring to the secret vale, 
Yclad in steel, and bright with burnish'd mail. 
He strain'd the bow, or toss'd the sounding spear, 
Or darting on the goal, outstripp'd the gale, 
Or wheel'd the chariot in its mid career. 
Or strenuous wrestled hard with many a tough compeer. 

At other times he pried through nature's store, 
Whate'er she in the ethereal round contains, 
Whate'er she hides beneath the verdant floor. 
The vegetable and the mineral reigns ;^ 
Or else he scann'd the globe, those small domains 
Where restless mortals such a turmoil keep, 
Its seas, its floods, its mountains, and its plains ; 
But more he search'd the mind, and roused from sleep 
Those moral seeds whence we heroic actions reap. 

Nor would he scorn to stoop from high pursuits 
Of heavenly truth, and practice what she taught : 

1 either. * kingdoms. 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 241 

Vain is the tree of knowledge without fruits ! 
Sometimes in hand the spade or plow he caught, 
Forth calling all with which boon earth is fraught ; 
Sometimes he plied the strong mechanic tool, 
Or rear'd the fabric from the finest draught ; 
And oft he put himself to Neptune's ^ school, 
Fighting with winds and waves on the vex'd ocean 
pool. 

To solace then these rougher toils, he tried 
To touch the kindling canvas into life ; 
With nature his creating pencil vied, 
With nature joyous at the mimic strife : 
Or, to such shapes as graced Pygmalion's wife^ 
He hewed the marble ; or with varied fire, 
He roused the trumpet, and the martial fife, 
Or bade the lute sweet tenderness inspire, 
Or verses framed that well might wake Apollo's lyre. 

Accomplish'd thus, he from the woods issued. 
Full of great aims, and bent on bold emprise ; ^ 
The work, which long he in his breast had brew'd, 
Now to perform he ardent did devise ; 
To wit a barbarous world to civilize. 
Earth was still then a boundless forest wild ; 
Naught to be seen but savage wood and skies ; 
No cities nourish'd arts, no culture smiled, 
No government, no laws, no gentle manners mild. 



^ The school of the sea. 

^ Pygmalion was a sculptor of Cypress, who fell in love with his own 
marble statue of Venus. At his earnest prayer the statue was endowed 
with life, and he married it. 

^ undertakings. 



242 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

A rugged wight, the worst of brute, was man ; 
On his own wretched kind he, ruthless, prey'd ; 
The strongest still the weakest overran ; 
In every country mighty robbers sway'd, 
And guile and ruffian force were all their trade. 
Life was a scene of rapine, want, and woe ; 
Which this brave knight, in noble anger, made 
To swear he would the rascal rout o'erthrow. 
For, by the powers divine, it should no more be so ! 

It would exceed the purport of my song 
To say how this best sun from orient climes, 
Came beaming life and beauty all along. 
Before him chasing indolence and crimes. 
Still as he pass'd, the nations he sublimes, 
And calls forth arts and virtues with his ray : 
Then Egypt, Greece, and Rome their golden times, 
Successive had ; but now in ruins gray 
They lie, to slavish sloth and tyranny a prey. 

To crown his toils, Sir Industry then spread 

The swelling sail, and made for Britain's coast. 

A sylvan life till then the natives led. 

In the brown shades and greenwood forest lost. 

All careless rambling where it liked them most ; 

Their wealth the wild deer bouncing through the 

glade ; 
They lodged at large, and lived at native's cost, 
Save spear and bow, withouten other aid 
Yet not the Roman steel their naked breast dismay'd. 

He liked the soil, he liked the clement skies, 
He liked the verdant hills and flowery plains: 
"Be this my great, my chosen isle," he cries, 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 243 

"This, whilst my labor Liberty sustains, 
This queen of oceans all assault disdains." 
Nor liked he less the genius of the land, 
To freedom apt and persevering pains, 
Mild to obey, and generous to command, 
Temper'd by forming Heaven with kindest firmest 
hand. 

Here, by degrees, his master-work arose, 
Whatever arts and industry can frame; 
Whatever iinish'd agriculture knows. 
Fair queen of arts ! from heaven itself who came, 
When Eden flourish'd in unspotted fame; 
And still with her sweet innocence we find. 
And tender peace, and joys without a name. 
That, while they ravish, tranquillize the mind: 
Nature and art at once, delight and use combined. 

Then towns he quicken'd by mechanic arts, 
And bade the fervent city glow with toil ; 
Bade social commerce raise renowned marts, 
Join land to land, and marry soil to soil; 
Unite the poles, and without bloody spoil 
Bring home of either Ind^ the gorgeous stores; 
Or, should despotic rage the world embroil, 
Bade tyrants tremble on remotest shores. 
While o'er the encircling deep Britannia's thunder roars. 

The drooping muses then he westward called, 
From the famed city by Propontic sea, 
What time the Turk the enfeebled Grecian thralled ; 
Thence from their cloister'd walks he set them free. 



1 Either the East Indies or the West Indies. 



244 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES, 

And brought them to another Castalie,i 
Where Isis^ many a famous nursling breeds; 
Or where old Cam^ soft-paces o'er the lea 
In pensive mood, and tunes his Doric reeds,* 
The whilst his flocks at large the lonely shepherd feeds. 

Yet the fine arts were what he finished least. 
For why? They are the quintessence of all, 
The growth of laboring time, and slow increased; 
Unless, as seldom chances, it should fall 
That mighty patrons the coy sisters^ call 
Up to the sunshine of encumbered ease 
Where no rude care the mounting thought may thrall, 
And where they nothing have to do but please : 
Ah! gracious God! thou knowest they ask no other 
fees. 

But now, alas ! we live too late in time: 
Our patrons now e'en grudge that little claim, 
Except to such as sleek the soothing rhyme; 
And yet, forsooth, they wear Maecenas'^ name. 
Poor sons of puft-up vanity, not fame. 
Unbroken spirits, cheer! still, still remains 
The eternal patron, Liberty; whose flame, 
While she protects, inspires the noblest strains : 
The best and sweetest, far, are toil-created gains. 



1 Castalian fountain, whose waters had the power of inspiring with the 
gift of poetry. 

2 Oxford University, situated on the Isis. 

3 Cambridge University, on the Cam River. 
* Pastoral poetry. 

^ The useful and the fine arts. 

8 A patron of letters. From C. Clinius Maecenas, a special friend and 
patron of Horace and Virgil. The name has been applied to the Earl of 
Halifax and to the poet-banker, Samuel Rogers. 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. 245 

When as the knight had framed in Britain-land 
A matchless form of glorious government, 
In which the sovereign laws alone command, 
Laws, 'stablished by the public free consent, 
Whose majesty is to the scepter lent ; 
When this great plan, with each dependent art, 
Was settled firm, and to his heart's content, 
Then sought he from the toilsome scene to part. 
And let life's vacant eve breathe quiet through the heart. 

For this he chose a farm in Deva's vale,^ 
Where his long alleys peeped upon the main : 
In this calm seat he drew the healthful gale. 
Here mixed the chief, the patriot, and the swain. 
The happy monarch of his sylvan train. 
Here, sided by the guardians of the fold. 
He walked his rounds, and cheered his blest domain : 
His days, the days of unstained nature, rolled 
Replete with peace and joy, like patriarchs, of old. 

NOTES. 

James Thomson, distinguished chiefly as the author of "The Seasons," 
was born inEdnam, in Roxburglishire, in 1700. His first published work 
was that portion of " The Seasons " entitled " Winter," which appeared in 
1726. " Summer " was published in 1727, " Spring" in 1728, and "Au- 
tumn" in 1730. "The Castle of Indolence," his last work, was published 
in 1748, two years before his death. " Making allowance for the time over 
which his influence has extended," says George Saintsbury, " no poet has 
given the special pleasure which poetry is capable of giving to so large 
a number of persons in so large a measure as Thomson." Of Thomson's 
indolent habits, it is related that much of his best poetry was composed 
while lying in bed; and an anecdote is told of his having been seen in 
Lord Burlington's garden, with his hands in his waistcoat pockets, biting 
off the riper sides of the peaches that hung in his way. 



^ The valley of the river Dee, in Cheshire, noted for its pastures and 
dairy products. 



EJje Sournes of a ©ag* 

By Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON. 



Obidah, the son of Ahensina, left the caravansera 
early in the morning, and pursued his journey through 
the plains of Indostan. He was fresh and vigorous 
with rest; he was animated with hope ; he was incited 
by desire ; he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, 
and saw the hills gradually rising before him. As he 
passed along, his ears were delighted with the morning 
song of the bird of paradise ; he was fanned by the last 
flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew 
by groves of spices. He sometimes contemplated the 
towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills ; and 
sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, 
eldest daughter of the spring ; all his senses were grat- 
ified, and all care was banished from his heart. 

Thus he went on, till the sun approached his meridian, 
and the increased heat preyed upon his strength ; he 
then looked round about him for some more commodious 
path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed 
to wave its shades as a sign of invitation ; he entered it, 
and found the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. 
He did not, however, forget whither he was travelling ; 
but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, which 
appeared to have the same direction with the main road ; 
and was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, he had 
246 



THE JOURNEY OF A DAY. 247 

found means to unite pleasure with business, and to gain 
the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues. 
He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, with- 
out the least remission of his ardour, except that he 
was sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the 
birds, which the heat had assembled in the shade ; and 
sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers 
that covered the banks on either side, or the fruits that 
hung upon the branches. At last, the green path began 
to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among 
hills and thickets, cooled with fountains, and murmur- 
ing with waterfalls. Here Obidah paused for a time, 
and began to consider whether it were longer safe to 
forsake the known and common track ; but remember- 
ing that the heat was now in its greatest violence, and 
that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to 
pursue the new path, which he supposed only to make 
a few meanders, in compliance with the varieties of the 
ground, and to end at last in the common road. 

Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his 
pace, though he suspected he was not gaining ground. 
This uneasiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on 
every new object, and give way to every sensation that 
might sooth or divert him. He listened to every echo ; 
he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect ; he turned 
aside to every cascade ; and pleased himself with trac- 
ing the meanderings of a river that roved among the 
trees, and watered a large region with innumerable 
circumvolutions. In these amusements, the hours passed 
away unaccounted : his deviations had perplexed his 
memory, and he knew not towards what point to travel. 
He stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward 
lest he should go wrong, yet conscious that the time of 



248 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

loitering was now past. While he was thus tortured 
with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds ; 
the day vanished from before him ; and a sudden tempest 
gathered round his head. He was now roused by his 
danger to a quick and painful remembrance of his 
folly; he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is 
consulted ; he lamented the unmanly impatience that 
prompted him to seek shelter in the grove ; and de- 
spised the petty curiosity that led him on from trifle to 
trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker, 
and a clap of thunder broke his meditation. 

He was resolved to do what yet remained in his 
power, to tread back the ground which he had passed, 
and try to find some issue where the wood might open 
into the plain. He prostrated himself on the ground, 
and recommended his life to the lord of Nature. He 
rose with confidence and tranquillity and pressed on 
with resolution. The beasts of the desert were in mo- 
tion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls 
of rage and fear, and ravage and expiration. All the 
horrors of darkness and solitude surrounded him : the 
winds roared in the woods ; and the torrents tumbled 
from the hills. 

Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through 
the wild, without knowing whither he was going, or 
whether he was every moment drawing nearer to safety, 
or to destruction. At length, not fear, but labour, 
began to overcome him ; his breath grew short, and his 
knees trembled ; and he was on the point of laying down 
in resignation to his fate, when he beheld, through the 
brambles, the glimmer of a taper. He advanced towards 
the light ; and finding that it proceeded from the cot- 
tage of a hermit, he called humbly at the door, and 



THE JOURNEY OF A DAY. 



249 



obtained admission. The old man set before him such 
provisions as he had collected for himself, on which 
Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude. 

When the repast was over, " Tell me," said the her- 
mit, " by what chance thou hast been brought hither > 
I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of the 
wilderness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah 
then related the occurrences of his journey, without any 
concealment or palliation. 

"Son," said the hermit, "let the errors and follies, 
the dangers and escape of this day, sink deep into thy 
heart. Remember, my son, that human life is the 
journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full 
of vigour, and full of expectation ; we set forward with 
spirit and hope, with gaiety and with diligence, and 
travel on a while in the direct road of piety towards 
the mansions of rest. In a short time, we remit our 
fervour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our 
duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same 
end. We then relax our vigour, and resolve no longer 
to be terrified with crimes at a distance ; but rely upon 
our own constancy, and venture to approach what we 
resolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers 
of ease, and repose in the shades of security. Here 
the heart softens, and vigilance subsides ; we are then 
willing to inquire whether another advance cannot be 
made, and whether we may not, at least, turn our eyes 
upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with 
scruple and hesitatTon ; we enter them, but enter tim- 
orous and trembling ; and always hope to pass through 
them without losing the road of virtue, which, for awhile, 
we keep in our sight, and to which we purpose to return. 
But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compliance 



250 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

prepares us for another ; we in time lose the happiness 
of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual 
gratifications. By degrees we let fall the remembrance 
of our original intention, and quit the only adequate 
object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in 
business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through 
the labyrinths of inconstancy ; till the darkness of old 
age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct 
our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror, 
with sorrow, with repentance ; and wish, but too often 
vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue. 
Happy are they, my son, who shall learn from thy 
example, not to despair ; but shall remember, that, 
though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, 
there yet remains one effort to be made : that reforma- 
tion is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavours ever 
unassisted ; that the wanderer may at length return 
after all his errors ; and that he who implores strength 
and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty 
give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose ; 
commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence ; and when 
the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey 
and thy life." 

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 

Samuel Johnson was born at Lichfield in 1709. His father was a 
bookseller. He was sent to Oxford in his nineteenth year, but was com- 
pelled to quit college before taking any degree. For a year and a half, he 
taught a private school in Lichfield, one of his ^hree) pupils being David 
Garrick. He came to London in 1737, and commenced writing for Cave, 
the printer, in the " Gentleman's Magazine." In 1738 he published his 
" London, a Satire"; in 1749 his " Vanity of Human Wishes." In emula- 
tion of the older essayists, he published, in numbers, 1750-52, a series of 
prose essays under the title of "The Ramliler." His Dictionary occupied 
him for seven years, and was published in 1755. He died in 1784. 



Eije Passions* 

By WILLIAM COLLINS. 



o>»ic 



When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,^ 
Thronged around her magic cell. 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possest beyond the muse's painting : 
By turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
Filled with fury, wrapt, inspired, 
From the supporting myrtles ^ round 
They snatched her instruments of sound; 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art. 
Each (for madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 
Amid the chords bewildered laid, 



1 Musical instrument. The first lyre (invented by Hermes) was made 
by stretching strings over a tortoise shell. 

" Compare with " hanging on the willows." (See Note 8, page 148.) 
The myrtle was sacred to Venus and adorned the brows of bloodless 

victors, 

251 



252 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And back recoiled, he knew not why, 
Even at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rushed ; his eyes on fire, 

In lightnings owned his secret stings : 
In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 

And swept with hurried hand the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair^ 

Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled ; 
A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair. 
What was thy delightful measure ? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure. 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 

Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale. 

She called on Echo still, through all the song ; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close. 

And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden 
hair. 

And longer had she sung ; — but, with a frown, 

Revenge impatient rose : 
He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder, down ; 

And with a withering look. 
The war-denouncing trumpet took. 



1 "Then black Despair 
The shadow of a starless night, was thrown 
Over the world, in which I moved alone." 

— Shelley, The Revolt of Islam. 



THE PASSIONS. 253 

And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
And, ever and anon, he beat 
The doubling drum, with furious heat ; 
And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity, at his side. 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien. 
While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from 
his head. 
Thy numbers. Jealousy, to naught were fixed ; 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ; 
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed ; 
And now it courted love, now raving called on hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy 1 sat retired ; 

And, from her wild sequestered seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet. 

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 

And, dashing soft from rocks around. 

Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 

Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 
Round an holy calm diffusing, 
Love of peace, and lonely musing 

In hollow murmurs died away. 
But O ! how altered was its sprightlier tone, 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung. 

Her buskins 2 gemmed with morning dew, 



1 " Moping Melancholy and moonstruck madness." — Milton, Paradise 
Lost. 

2 Shoes with high soles. Often used with reference to the tragic stage. 



254 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 
The hunter's call, to faun and dryad known! 

The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen,^ 
Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen. 
Peeping from forth their alleys green : 

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 

And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 

He, with viny crown advancing. 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest ; 

But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best ; 

They would have thought who heard the strain 
They saw, in Tempe's vale,^ her native maids, 
Amidst the festal sounding shades, 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing, 

While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings. 
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round : 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 
And he, amidst his frolic play. 
As if he would the charming air repay, 

Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 

O Music ! sphere-descended maid, 
Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid ! 
Why, goddess ! why, to us denied, 
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside 
As, in that loved Athenian bower, 
You learned an all-commanding power, 
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared, 
Can well recall what then it heard ; 



1 Artemis and the Muses. 

2 A valley in Greece between Mount Ossa and Mount Olympus. A 
favorite haunt of Apollo and the Muses. 



THE PASSIONS. 255 

Where is thy native simple heart, 
Devote to virtue, fancy, art ? 
Arise, as in that elder time. 
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime ! 
Thy wonders, in that godlike age, 
Fill thy recording sister's ^ page — 
'Tis said, and I believe the tale ; 
Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 
Had more of strength, diviner rage, 
Than all which charms this laggard age ; 
E'en all at once together found, 
Cecilia's^ mingled world of sound — 
O bid our vain endeavours cease ; 
Revive the just designs of Greece : 
Return in all thy simple state ! 
Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 

William Collins was bom at Chichester on Christmas Day, 1721. In 
1733 he entered Winchester College, then under Dr. Burton. While at 
school he wrote some short poems which were afterwards published in a 
collection. In 1740 he entered as commoner of Queen's College, Oxford; 
and next year he obtained a demyship at Magdalen. In 1744 he left 
Oxford for London, where he found a true friend in Johnson. His " Odes " 
appeared in 1747. After this he went to live at Richmond, where he was 
intimate with Johnson, Thomson, Armstrong, and other celebrities of the 
day, and where he composed the " Ode on the Death of Thomson," and 
several other poems which were well received. In 1750 he was attacked 
by the brain-disease from which, with certain intervals of partial recovery, 
he suffered for the rest of his life. He died in 1759. 

^ Clio, the Muse of History. 

'■^ The Christian patroness of sacred music and reputed inventor of the 
organ. See Dryden's " Alexander's Feast," and Pope's " Ode on St. Ce- 
cilia's Day." 



^ parable asainst Persecution. 



o^Oic 



1. And it came to pass after these things, that Abra- 
ham sat in the door of his tent, about the going down of 
the sun. 

2. And behold a man, bowed with age, came from 
the way of the wilderness, leaning on a staff. 

3. And Abraham arose and met him, and said unto 
him, "Turn in, I pray thee, and wash thy feet, and tarry 
all night, and thou shalt arise early on the morrow and 
go on thy way." 

4. But the man said, " Nay, for I will abide under this 
tree." 

5. And Abraham pressed him greatly; so he turned, 
and they went into the tent, and Abraham baked unleav- 
ened bread, and they did eat. 

6. And when Abraham saw that the man blessed not 
God, he said unto him, "Wherefore dost thou not wor- 
ship the most high God, Creator of heaven and earth .■* " 

7. And the man answered and said, " I do not wor- 
ship the God thou speakest of, neither do I call upon 
his name; for I have made to myself a god, which 
abideth alway in mine house and provideth me with all 
things." 

8. And Abraham's zeal was kindled against the man, 
and he arose and fell upon him, and drove him forth 
with blows into the wilderness. 

256 



A PARABLE AGAINST PERSECUTION. 257 

9. And at midnight God called unto Abraham, say- 
ing, "Abraham, where is the stranger?" 

10. And Abraham answered and said, "Lord, he 
would not worship thee, neither would he call upon thy 
name ; therefore have I driven him out from before my 
face into the wilderness." 

11. And God said, "Have I borne with him these 
hundred ninety and eight years, and nourished him, and 
clothed him, notwithstanding his rebellion against me; 
and couldst not thou, that art thyself a sinner, bear with 
him one night .-*" 

12. And Abraham said, "Let not the anger of the 
Lord wax hot against his servant; lo, I have sinned; lo, 
I have sinned; forgive me, I pray thee." 

13. And Abraham arose and went forth into the 
wilderness, and sought diligently for the man, and found 
him, and returned with him to the tent ; and when he 
had entreated him kindly he sent him away on the 
morrow with gifts. 

14. And God spake again unto Abraham, saying, 
" For this thy sin shall thy seed be afflicted four hun- 
dred years in a strange land ; 

15. "But for thy repentance will I deliver them ; and 
they shall come forth with power, and with gladness of 
heart, and with much substance." 



NOTE. 

"This Parable was printed in the 'Boston Chronicle,' 1768, and six 
years afterwards in Lord Karnes's ' Sketches of the History of Man.' 
Lord Karnes introduced it with the following prefatory remark : ' It was 
communicated to me by Dr. Franklin of Philadelphia, a man who makes a 
great figure in the learned world.' . . . From Lord Karnes's work it was 
taken by Mr. Vaughan, and included in his edition of Franklin's writings. 



258 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Although Lord Karnes does not say that Dr. Franklin was the author of 
the Parable, yet from the manner in which he speaks of it, this inference 
was naturally drawn; and some degree of surprise was expressed when 
the discovery was made, not long afterwards, that there was a similar story 
in Jeremy Taylor's ' Liberty of Prophesying.' Curiosity was then excited 
as to its real origin, for Taylor vaguely says that he found it in ' the Jews' 
books.' Upon this hint, however, the learned commenced their researches, 
and the storehouses of Talmudic, Cabalistic, and Rabbinical lore was 
explored in vain. No such story could be found in any Jewish writing. 
It was at length discovered in the dedication of a book which was trans- 
lated by George Gentius from a Jewish work, and which appeared in 
Amsterdam in the year 1651. More recently it has been found out that 
the Parable is of Eastern origin — from the second book of the 'Boston,' 
by the celebrated Persian poet Saadi. It is worthy of notice that Saadi 
relates the story not as his own, but as having been told to him. Thus its 
fountain remains yet to be ascertained." — Jared Sparks. 

In a letter to Mr. Vaughan, dated November 2, 1789, Dr. Franklin 
says that he never published the story, and claimed no " other credit from 
it than what related to the style, and the addition of the concluding threat 
and promise." 



€\)c %M of Science, 

By dr. JOHN AIKIN.i 

In that season of the year when the serenity of the 
sky, the various fruits which cover the ground, the 
discolored foHage of the trees, and all the sweet but 
fading graces of inspiring autumn, open the mind to 
benevolence and dispose it for contemplation, I was 
wandering in a beautiful and romantic country till 
curiosity began to give way to weariness ; and I sat 
down on the fragment of a rock overgrown with moss, 
where the rustling of the falling leaves, the dashing 
of waters, and the hum of the distant city soothed my 
mind into a most perfect tranquillity ; and sleep in- 
sensibly stole upon me, as I was indulging the agreeable 
reveries, which the objects around me naturally in- 
spired. 

I immediately found myself in a vast extended plain, 
in the midst of which arose a mountain higher than 
I had before any conception of. It was covered with 
a multitude of people, chiefly youth, many of whom 



^ Dr. John Aikin was born in Leicestershire, England, in 1747. He 
is best known as one of the authors of " Evenings at Home," a selection 
of instructive essays and stories for children. He was assisted in the 
preparation of this work by his sister, Mrs. Barbauld. The book has been 
translated into every European language. Dr. Aikin died in 1822. 

259 



260 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

pressed forward with the liveliest expressions of ardor 
in their countenance, though the way was in many- 
places steep and difficult. I observed that those who 
had but just begun to climb the hill, thought them- 
selves not far from the top ; but as they proceeded, 
new hills were continually rising to their view, and the 
summit of the highest they could before discern seemed 
but the foot of another, till the mountain at length 
appeared to lose itself in the clouds. As I was gazing 
on these things with astonishment, a friendly instructor 
suddenly appeared : "The mountain before thee," said 
he, "is the Hill of Science. On the top is the temple 
of Truth, whose head is above the clouds, and a veil of 
pure light covers her face. Observe the progress of 
her votaries ; be silent and attentive." 

After I had noticed a variety of objects, I turned my 
eye towards the multitudes who were climbing the 
steep ascent, and observed amongst them a youth of 
a lively look, a piercing eye, and something fiery and 
irregular in all his motions. His name was Genius. 
He darted like an eagle up the mountain, and left his 
companions gazing after him with envy and admira- 
tion ; but his progress was unequal, and interrupted 
by a thousand caprices. When Pleasure warbled in the 
valley, he mingled in her train. When Pride beckoned 
towards the precipice, he ventured to the tottering 
edge. He delighted in devious and untried paths, and 
made so many excursions from the road, that his feebler 
companions often outstripped him. I observed that 
the muses beheld him with partiality ; but Truth often 
frowned and turned aside her face. While Genius was 
thus wasting his strength in eccentric flights, I saw 
a person of very different appearance, named Applica- 



THE HILL OF SCIENCE. 1(A 

tion. He crept along with a slow and unremitting 
pace, his eyes fixed on the top of the mountain, 
patiently removing every stone that obstructed his way, 
till he saw most of those below him, who had at first 
derided his slow and toilsome progress. Indeed, there 
were few who ascended the hill with equal and unin- 
terrupted steadiness ; for, besides the difficulties of the 
way, they were continually sohcited to turn aside, by a 
numerous crowd of appetites, passions, and pleasures, 
whose importunity, when once complied with, they be- 
came less and less able to resist ; and though they 
often returned to the path, the asperities of the road 
were more severely felt, the hill appeared more steep 
and rugged, the fruits, which were wholesome and re- 
freshing, seemed harsh and ill tasted, their sight grew 
dim, and their feet tripped at every little obstruction. 

I saw, with some surprise, that the Muses, whose 
business was to cheer and encourage those who were 
toiling up the ascent, would often sing in the bowers 
of pleasure, and accompany those who were enticed 
away at the call of the passions. They accompanied 
them, however, but a little way, and always forsook 
them when they lost sight of the hill. The tyrants 
then doubled their chains upon the unhappy captives, 
and led them away without resistance, to the cells of 
Ignorance, or the mansions of Misery. Amongst the 
innumerable seducers, who were endeavoring to draw 
away the votaries of Truth from the path of Science, 
there was one so little formidable in her appearance, 
and so gentle and languid in her attempts, that I should 
scarcely have taken notice of her, but for the numbers 
she had imperceptibly loaded with her chains. In- 
dolence (for so she was called), far from proceeding to 



262 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

open hostilities, did not attempt to turn their feet out 
of the path, but contented herself with retarding their 
progress ; and the purpose she could not force them 
to abandon she persuaded them to delay. Her touch 
had a power like that of the torpedo, which withered 
the strength of those who came within its influence. 
Her unhappy captives all turned their faces towards 
the temple, and always hoped to arrive there ; but the 
ground seemed to slide from beneath their feet, and 
they found themselves at the bottom, before they sus- 
pected they had changed their place. The placid se- 
renity which at first appeared in their countenance, 
changed by degrees into a melancholy languor, which 
was tinged with deeper and deeper gloom, as they 
glided down the stream of Insignificance, a dark and 
sluggish water, which is curled by no breeze, and en- 
livened by no murmur, till it falls into a dead sea, where 
startled passengers are awakened by the shock, and 
the next moment buried in the gulf of Oblivion. 

Of all the unhappy deserters from the paths of 
Science, none seemed less able to return than the fol- 
lowers of Indolence. The captives of appetite and 
passion would often seize the moment when their 
tyrants were languid or asleep, to escape from their 
enchantment ; but the dominion of Indolence was con- 
stant and unremitted, and seldom resisted till resistance 
was in vain. 

After contemplating these things, I turned my eyes 
towards the top of the mountain, where the air was 
always pure and exhilarating, the path shaded with 
laurels and evergreens, and the effulgence which beamed 
from the face of Science seemed to shed a glory round 
her votaries. Happy, said I, are they who are per- 



THE HILL OF SCIENCE. 263 

mitted to ascend the mountain ! But while I was 
pronouncing this exclamation with uncommon ardor, I 
saw, standing beside me, a form of diviner features and 
a more benign radiance. "Happier," said she, "are 
they whom Virtue conducts to the Mansions of Con- 
tent ! " "What," said I, "does Virtue then reside in 
the vale?" "I am found," said she, "in the vale, and 
I illuminate the mountain. I cheer the cottager at 
his toil, and inspire the sage at his meditation. I 
mingle in the crowd of cities, and bless the hermit 
in his cell. I have a temple in every heart that owns- 
my influence, and to him that wishes for me I am 
already present. Science may raise thee to eminence, 
but I alone can guide thee to felicity ! " ^ While Virtue 
was thus speaking, I stretched out my arms towards 
her, with a vehemence which broke my slumber. The 
chill dews were falling around me, and the shades of 
evening stretched over the landscape. I hastened 
homeward, and resigned the night to silence and 
meditation. 



^ " Virtue alone is happiness below." 

Pope, Essay on Man, iv., 310. 
" 'Tis Virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell." 

Collins, Eclogue, i, 6. 



iffMtS* 



THE OAK AND THE BRIAR.i 

BY EDMUND SPENSER. 

There grewe an aged Tree on the greene, 
A goodly Oake sometime had it bene, 
With armes full strong and largely displayd, 
But of their leaves they were disarayde : 
The bodie bigge, and mightely pight, 
Throughly rooted, and of wonderous hight ; 
Whilome^ had bene the king of the fielde, 
And mochell mast to the husbande ^ did yielde, 
And with his nuts larded* many swine : 
But now the gray mosse marred his rine^ ; 
His bared boughes were beaten with stormes. 
His toppe was bald, and wasted with wormes, 
His honor decayed, his braunches sere. 

Hard by his side grewe a bragging Brere, 
Which proudly thrust into th' element,^ 
And seemed to threat the firmament : 



1 [From "The Shepheards Calender," 1579-80. February.] "This 
tale of the Oake and the Brere he telleth as learned of Chaucer, but it is 
cleane in another kind, and rather like to /Esops fables. It is verie excel- 
lent for pleasant descriptions, being altogether a certain Icon of Hypoty- 
posis of disdainfull younkers." — Glosse. 

2 once, formerly. ^ husbandman. * fattened. 
^ bark. ^ the air. 

264 



FABLES. 265 

It was embellisht with blossomes fayre, 

And thereto aye wonned ^ to repayre 

The shepheards daughters to gather flowres, 

To peinct their girlonds with his colowres ; 

And in his small bushes used to shrowde^ 

The sweete Nightingale singing so lowde ; 

Which made this foolish Brere wexe^ so bold, 

That on a time he cast him to scold 

And snebbe^ the good Oake, for^ he was old. 

" Why standst there (quoth he) thou brutish blocke ? 
Nor for fruict nor for shadowe serves thy stocke ; 
Seest how fresh my flowers bene spredde, 
Dyed in lilly white and cremsin redde, 
With leaves engrained in lusty greene ; 
Colours meete to clothe a mayden Queene ? 
Thy waste ^ bignes but combers the grownd, 
And dirks '' the beauty of my blossomes rownd : 
The mouldie mosse, which thee accloieth,^ 
My sinamon smell too much annoieth : 
Wherefore soone I rede ^ thee hence remove, 
Least thou the price of my displeasure prove," 
So spake this bold brere with great disdaine ; 
Little him aunswered the Oake againe, 
But yeelded, with shame and greefe adawed, 
That of a weede he was overcrawed.^^ 

Yt chaunced after upon a day, 
The husbandman selfe to come that way, 
Of custome for to survewe his grownd. 
And his trees of state in compasse rownd : 



1 were wont. ^ hide. ^ become, grow. * snub, chide. 

^ because. ^ vast. "^ darkens. ^ cumbereth. 

^ advise. ^'^ daunted. 



266 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Him when the spitefull Brere had espyed, 
Causelesse complained, and lowdly cryed 
Unto his lord, stirring up sterne strife. 

" O, my liege Lord ! the god of my life ! 
Pleaseth you ponder your suppliaunts plaint, 
Caused of wrong and cruell constraint, 
Which I your poore vassall daylie endure ; 
And, but your goodnes the same recure, 
Am like for desperate doole ^ to dye, 
Through felonous force of mine enemie." 

Greatly aghast with this piteous plea, 
Him rested the goodman on the lea. 
And badde the Brere in his plaint proceede. 
With painted words tho gan this proude weede 
(As most usen ambitious folke :) 
His coloured crime with craft to cloke. 

" Ah, my soveraigne ! Lord of creatures all. 
Thou placer of plants both humble and tall, 
Was not I planted of thine owne hand, 
To be the primrose ^ of all thy land ; 
With flowring blossomes to furnish the prime,^ 
And scarlot berries in sommer time ? 
How falls it then that this faded Oake, 
Whose bodie is sere, whose braunches broke. 
Whose naked armes stretch unto the fyre. 
Unto such tyrannic doth aspire ; 
Hindering with his shade my lovely light. 
And robbing me of the swete sonnes sight ? 
So beate his old boughes my tender side, 
That oft the bloud springeth from woundes wyde ; 
Untimely my flowres forced to fall, 
That bene the honor of your coronall*: 

^ dole, grief. 2 worthiest. ^ spring. * garland. 



FABLES. 267 

And oft he lets his cancker-wormes light 
Upon my braunches, to worke me more spight ; 
And oft his hoarie locks downe doth cast, 
Where-with my fresh fiowretts bene defast : 
For this, and many more such outrage, 
Craving your goodlihead to aswage 
The ranckorous rigour of his might, 
Nought aske I, but onely to hold my right ; 
Submitting me to your good sufferance, 
And praying to be garded from greevance." 

To this the Oake cast him to replie 
Well as he couth ^ ; but his enemie 
Had kindled such coles of displeasure. 
That the good man noulde ^ stay his leasure, 
But home him hasted with furious heate, 
Encreasing his wrath with many a threate; 
His harmefull hatchet he hent ^ in hand, 
(Alas ! that it so ready should stand !) 
And to the field alone he speedeth, 
(Ay little helpe to harme there needeth !) 
Anger nould let him speake to the tree, 
Enaunter* his rage mought cooled be ; 
But to the roote bent his sturdy stroake. 
And made many wounds in the wast Oake. 
The axes edge did oft turne againe, 
As halfe unwilling to cutte the graine ; 
Semed, the sencelesse yron dyd feare, 
Or to wrong holy eld did forbeare ; 
For it had bene an auncient tree, 
Sacred with many a mysteree, 
And often crost with the priestes crewe^; 
And often halowed with holy-water dewe : 



1 knew how. ^ would not. ^ seized, took. * lest. ^ cruse, holy vessel. 



268 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

But sike ^ fancies weren foolerie, 

And broughten this Oake to this miserye ; 

For nought mought they quitten him from decay. 

For fiercely the good man at him did lay, 

The blocke ^ oft groned under the blow, 

And sighed to see his neere overthrow. 

In fine, the Steele had pierced his pith, 

Tho ^ downe to the earth hee fell forthwith. 

His wondrous weight made the ground to quake, 

Th' earth shranke under him, and seem'd to shake: 

There lyeth the Oake, pitied of none ! 

Now stands the Brere like a lord alone. 
Puffed up with pride and vain pleasaunce : 
But all this glee had no continuance. 
For eftsoones winter gan to approche, 
The blustering Boreas * did encroche, 
And beate upon the solitarie Brere ; 
For now no succour was scene him neere. 
Now gan hee repent his pride too late, 
For naked left and disconsolate 
The byting frost nipt his stalke dead. 
The watrie wette weighed down his head. 
And heaped snow burdened him sore. 
That now upright hee can stand no more ; 
And being down is trod in the durt 
Of cattell, and bronzed, and sorely hurt. 
Such was th' end of this ambitious Brere. 



^ such. 2 trunk. ^ then. * north wind. 



FABLES. 269 

THE COUNTRY MOUSE. 

BY ABRAHAM COWLEY. ^ 

" At the large foot of a fair hollow tree, 
Close to ploughed ground, seated commodiously, 
His ancient and hereditary house. 
There dwelt a good, substantial country mouse ; 
Frugal, and grave, and careful of the main, 
Yet one who once did nobly entertain 
A city mouse, well-coated, sleek, and gay, 
A mouse of high degree, who lost his way, 
Wantonly walking forth to take the air, 
And arrived early and alighted there 
For a day's lodging ; the good, hearty host 
(The ancient plenty of his hall to boast), 
Did all the stores produce that might excite, 
With various tastes, the courtier's appetite — 
Fitches and beans, peason, and oats, and wheat, 
And a large chestnut, the delicious meat 
Which Jove himself — were he a mouse — would eat ; 
And for a hautgoni'^ there was mixed with these 
A rind of bacon, and the coat of cheese, 
The precious relics which at harvest, he 
Had gathered from the reaper's luxury. 
* Freely,' said he, ' fall on, and never spare ; 
The bounteous gods will for to-morrow care.* 
And, thus at ease, on beds of straw they lay. 
And to their genius sacrificed the day ; 



^ Born in London, 1618. Educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. 
Wrote "Poetical Blossomes," "The Mistress," "The Guardian," etc. 
Died 1667. 

2 hauigout (pronounced ho-goo), richness. 



270 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Yet the nice guest's epicurean mind 

(Tho' breeding made him civil seem, and kind), 

Despised this country feast, and still his thought 

Upon the pies and cakes of London wrought. 

' Your bounty and civility,' said he, 

'Which I'm surprised in these rude parts to see, 

Shows that the gods have given you a mind 

Too noble for the fate that here you find. 

Why should a soul so virtuous, and so great 

Lose itself thus in an obscure retreat .'' 

Let savage beasts lodge in a country den. 

You should see towns, and manners know, and men, 

And taste the generous luxury of the court, 

Where all the mice of quality resort. 

We all, ere long, must render up our breath : 

No cave nor hole can shelter us from death. 

Since life is so uncertain and so short. 

Let's spend it all in feasting and in sport. 

Come, worthy sir, come with me, and partake 

All the great things that mortals happy make.' 

Alas ! what virtues hath sufficient 'larms 

T' oppose bright honour and soft pleasure's charms ! 

What wisdom can their magic force repel ."* 

It draws this reverend hermit from his cell. 

"Plainly, the truth to tell, the sun was set 
When to the town the weary travelers get, 
To a lord's house, as lordly as can be, 
Made for the use of pride and luxury. 
They come ; the gentle courtier at the door 
Stops, and will hardly enter in before. 
' But 'tis, sir, your command, and, being so, 
I'm sworn obedience,' and so in they go. 



FABLES. : 271 

Behind a hanging in a spacious room 

(The richest work of Mortlake's noble loom), 

They wait awhile, their wearied limbs to rest, 

Till silence should invite them to their feast. 

About the hour that Cynthia's silver light 

Has reached the pale meridian of the night, 

At last, the various supper being done, 

It happened that the company was gone 

Into a room remote, servants and all, 

To please their noble fancies with a ball. 

Our host leads forth the stranger, and does find 

All fitted to the bounties of his mind. 

Still on the table half-filled dishes stood. 

And with delicious bits the floor was strewed. 

The courteous mouse presents him with the best, 

And both with fat varieties were blest. 

The industrious peasant everywhere doth range, • 

And thanks the gods for his life's happy change. 

Lo ! in the midst of a well-freighted pie 

They both at last glutted and wanton lie. 

When — see the sad reverse of prosperous fate. 

And what fierce storms on mortal glories wait — 

With hideous noise, down the rude servants come. 

Six dogs before ran barking into th' room. 

The wretched gluttons fly with wild affright. 

And hate the fulness which retards their flight ; 

Our trembling peasant wishes now in vain 

That rocks and mountains covered him again. 

O how the change of his poor life he curst ! 

'This, of all lives,' said he, 'is sure the worst. 

Give me again, ye gods, my cave and wood ; 

With peace, let tares and acorns be my food.' " 



272 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

THE BEASTS' CONFESSION. 

BY JONATHAN SWIFT. 1 

When beasts could speak, (the learned say 

They still can do so every day,) 

It seems, they had religion then, 

As much as now we find in men. 

It happen'd, when a plague broke out, 

(Which therefore made them more devout,) 

The king of brutes (to make it plain, 

Of quadrupeds I only mean) 

By proclamation gave command, 

That every subject in the land 

Should to the priest confess their sins ; 

And thus the pious Wolf begins : — 

Good father, I must own with shame. 

That often I have been to blame : 

I must confess, on Friday last. 

Wretch that I was ! I broke my fast : 

But I defy the basest tongue 

To prove I did my neighbour wrong ; 

Or ever went to seek my food. 

By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood. 

The Ass approaching next, confess'd, 
That in his heart he loved a jest : 
A wag he was, he needs must own, 
And could not let a dunce alone : 
Sometimes his friend he would not spare. 
And might perhaps be too severe : 



1 Dean Swift — born in Dublin, 1667; wrote "The Battle of the Books," 
"Gulliver's Travels," "Tale of a Tub," and several short essays, poems, 
etc.; died, 1745. 



FABLES. 273 

But yet the worst that could be said, 
He was a wit both born and bred ; 
And, if it be a sin and shame, 
Nature alone must bear the blame : 
One fault he has, is sorry for't, 
His ears are half a foot too short ; 
Which could he to the standard bring, 
He'd show his face before the king : 
Then for his voice, there's none disputes 
That he's the nightingale of brutes. 

The Swine with contrite heart allow'd. 
His shape and beauty made him proud : 
In diet was perhaps too nice, 
But gluttony was ne'er his vice: 
In every turn of life content, 
And meekly took what fortune sent : 
Inquire through all the parish round, 
A better neighbour ne'er was found ; 
His vigilance might some displease ; 
'Tis true, he hated sloth like pease. 

The mimic Ape began his chatter. 
How evil tongues his life bespatter ; 
Much of the censuring world complain'd, 
Who said, his gravity was feign'd : 
Indeed, the strictness of his morals 
Engaged him in a hundred quarrels : 
He saw, and he was grieved to see't. 
His zeal was sometimes indiscreet : 
He found his virtues too severe 
For our corrupted times to bear ; 
Yet such a lewd licentious age 
Might well excuse a stoic's rage. 

The Goat advanced with decent pace. 



274 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And first excused his youthful face ; 

Forgiveness begg'd that he appear'd 

('Twas Nature's fault) without a beard. 

'Tis true, he was not much inclined 

To fondness for the female kind : 

Not, as his enemies object, 

From chance, or natural defect ; 

Not by his frigid constitution ; 

But through a pious resolution : 

For he had made a holy vow 

Of Chastity, as monks do now : 

Which he resolved to keep for ever hence 

And strictly too, as doth his reverence. 

Apply the tale, and you shall find, 
How just it suits with human kind. 
Some faults we own ; but can you guess .^ 
— Why, virtue's carried to excess, 
Wherewith our vanity endows us. 
Though neither foe nor friend allows us. 

The Lawyer swears (you may rely on't) 
He never squeezed a needy client ; 
And this he makes his constant rule, 
For which his brethren call him fool ; 
His conscience always was so nice. 
He freely gave the poor advice ; 
By which he lost, he may affirm, 
A hundred fees last Easter term ; 
While others of the learned robe, 
Would break the patience of a Job. 
No pleader at the bar could match 
His diligence and quick dispatch ; 
Ne'er kept a cause, he well may boast, 
Above a term or two at most. 



FABLES. 275 

The cringing knave, who seeks a place 
Without success, thus tells his case : 
Why should he longer mince the matter ? 
He failed, because he could not flatter; 
He had not learn'd to turn his coat. 
Nor for a party give his vote : 
His crime he quickly understood ; 
Too zealous for the nation's good : 
He found the ministers resent it. 
Yet could not for his heart repent it. 

The Chaplain vows, he cannot fawn, 
Though it would raise him to the lawn : 
He passed his hours among his books ; 
You find it in his meagre looks : 
He might, if he were worldly wise. 
Preferment get, and spare his eyes ; 
But owns he had a stubborn spirit, 
That made him trust alone to merit ; 
Would rise by merit to promotion ; 
Alas ! a mere chimeric notion. 

The Doctor, if you will believe him, 
Confess'd a sin ; (and God forgive him !) 
Call'd up at midnight, ran to save 
A blind old beggar from the grave : 
But see how Satan spreads his snares ; 
He quite forgot to say his prayers. 
He cannot help it, for his heart, 
Sometimes to act the parson's part : 
Quotes from the Bible many a sentence, 
That moves his patients to repentance ; 
And, when his medicines do no good. 
Supports their minds with heavenly food : 
At which, however well intended. 



276 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

He hears the clergy are offended ; 
And grown so bold behind his back, 
To call him hypocrite and quack. 
In his own church he keeps a seat ; 
Says grace before and after meat ; 
And calls, without affecting airs, 
His household twice a-day to prayers. 
He shuns apothecaries' shops, 
And hates to cram the sick with slops : 
He scorns to make his art a trade ; 
Nor bribes my lady's favourite maid. 
Old nurse-keepers would never hire. 
To recommend him to the squire ; 
Which others, whom he will not name, 
Have often practised to their shame. 

The Statesman tells you, with a sneer. 
His fault is to be too sincere ; 
And having no sinister ends. 
Is apt to disobUge his friends. 
The nation's good, his master's glory. 
Without regard to Whig or Tory, 
Were all the schemes he had in view. 
Yet he was seconded by few : 
Though some had spread a thousand lies, 
'Twas he defeated the excise. 
'Twas known, though he had borne aspersion, 
That standing troops were his aversion : 
His practice was, in every station. 
To serve the king, and please the nation. 
Though hard to find in every case 
The fittest man to fill a place : » 

His promises he ne'er forgot. 
But took memorials on the spot ; 



FABLES. 277 

His enemies, for want of charity, 
Said, he affected popularity : 
'Tis true, the people understood, 
That all he did was for their good ; 
Their kind affections he has tried ; 
No love is lost on either side. 
He came to court with fortune clear, 
Which now he runs out every year ; 
Must, at the rate that he goes on. 
Inevitably be undone : 
O ! if his majesty would please 
To give him but a writ of ease, 
Would grant him license to retire, 
As it has long been his desire, 
By fair accounts it would be found, 
He's poorer by ten thousand pound. 
He owns, and hopes it is no sin. 
He ne'er was partial to his kin ; 
He thought it base for men in stations, 
To crowd the court with their relations : 
His country was his dearest mother, 
And every virtuous man his brother ; 
Through modesty or awkward shame, 
(For which he owns himself to blame,) 
He found the wisest man he could. 
Without respect to friends or blood ; 
Nor ever acts on private views, 
When he has liberty to choose. 

The Sharper swore he hated play. 
Except to pass an hour away : 
And well he might ; for, to his cost, 
By want of skill, he always lost ; 
He heard there was a club of cheats, 



278 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Who had contrived a thousand feats ; 
Could change the stock, or cog a die, 
And thus deceive the sharpest eye : 
Nor wonder how his fortune sunk, 
His brothers fleece him when he's drunk. 

I own the moral not exact. 
Besides, the tale is false, in fact ; 
And so absurd, that could I raise up, 
From fields Elysian, fabling ^sop, 
I would accuse him to his face. 
For libelling the four-foot race. 
Creatures of every kind but ours 
Well comprehend their natural powers, 
While we, whom reason ought to sway. 
Mistake our talents every day. 
The Ass was never known so stupid. 
To act the part of Tray or Cupid ; 
Nor leaps upon his master's lap, 
There to be stroked, and fed with pap, 
As ^sop would the world persuade ; 
He better understands his trade : 
Nor comes whene'er his lady whistles, 
But carries loads, and feeds on thistles. 
Our author's meaning, I presume, is 
A creature bipcs et iniplnniis'^ ; 
Wherein the moralist design'd 
A compliment on human kind ; 
For here he owns, that now and then 
Beasts may degenerate into men. 



1 Two-legged and without feathers. 



FABLES. 279 



THE MAN AND THE FLEA. 

BY JOHN GAY.l 

"Whether on earth, in air, or main, 
Sure everything alive is vain. 
Does not the hawk all fowls survey 
As destined only for his prey ? 
And do not tyrants, prouder things, 
Think men were born for slaves for kings ? 
When the crab views the pearly strands, 
Or Tagus bright with golden sands, 
Or crawls beside the coral grove 
And hears the ocean roll above, 

* Nature is too profuse,' says he, 

* Who gave all these to pleasure me.' 
When bordering pinks and roses bloom, 
And every garden breathes perfume — 



^ Born near Barnstaple, England, 1688 ; wrote " Rural Sports," "The 
Shepherd's Week," "Trivia," "Fables," and "The Beggar's Opera"; died 
in London, 1732. No other Enghsh author has excelled him as a writer of 
fables. " Gay's ' Fables ' are certainly a work of great merit, both as to the 
quantity of invention implied, and as to the elegance and facility of the 
execution." — Hazlitl. 

" In this age," says Taine, " lived Gay, a kind and amiable good fellow, 
very sincere, very frank, strangely thoughtless, born to be duped, and a 
young man to the last. Swift said of him that he ought never to have lived 
more than twenty-two years. ' In wit a man, simplicity a child,' wrote 
Pope. He had little of the grave in his character, and neither many 
scruples nor manners. It was his sad lot, he said, that he could get 
nothing from the court, whether he wrote for or against it. And he 
wrote his own epitaph : — 

" ' Life is a jest ; and all things show it, 
I thought so once ; but now I know it.' " 



280, THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

When peaches glow with sunny dyes, 
Like Laura's cheek when blushes rise ; 
When with huge figs the branches bend ; 
When clusters from the vine depend. 
The snail looks round on flower and tree, 
And cries 'All these were made for me.' 

"'What dignity's in human nature .-'' 
Says Man, the most conceited creature, 
As from a cliff he cast his eye 
And viewed the sea and arched sky. 
The sun was sunk beneath the main ; 
The moon and all the starry train 
Hung the vast vault of heaven, the man 
His contemplation thus began : 

"'When I behold this glorious show 
And the wide watery world below, 
The scaly people of the main, 
The beasts that range the woods or plain, 
The wing'd inhabitants of air. 
The night, the day, the various year. 
And know all these by Heaven designed 
As gifts to pleasure human-kind, 
I cannot raise my voice too high — 
Of what vast consequence am I } ' 

" ' Not of the importance you suppose,* 
Replies ajlca upon his nose. 
* Be humble, learn thyself to scan. 
Know pride was never made for man ; 
'Tis vanity that swells thy mind. 
What heaven and earth for //lee designed, 
For t/iee made only for our need. 
That more important Ji£-as should feed.' " 



FABLES. 281 

THE HARE WITH MANY FRIENDS.^ 

BY JOHN GAY. 

Friendship, like love, is but a name, 
Unless to one you stint the flame. 
The child whom many fathers share, 
Hath seldom known a father's care. 
'Tis thus in friendship ; who depend 
On many, rarely find a friend. 

A Hare, who, in a civil way, 
Complied with everything, like Gay, 
Was known by all the bestial train, 
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain. 
Her care was, never to offend, 
And every creature was her friend. 

As forth she went at early dawn. 
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn. 
Behind she hears the hunters' cries, 
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies ; 
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ; 
She hears the near advance of death ; 
She doubles, to mislead the hound. 
And measures back her mazy round; 
Till, fainting in the public way, 
Half dead with fear she gasping lay. 
What transport in her bosom grew. 
When first the Horse appeared in view ! 
" Let me," says she, "your back ascend, 
And owe my safety to a friend. 



1 " This fable is a fair sample of Gay's manner ; and it is of additional 
interest as being in some measure a personal utterance," — <4w/?« Dobson^ 



282 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

You know my feet betray my flight; 
To friendship every burden's light." 
The Horse repHed : " Poor honest Puss, 
It grieves my heart to see thee thus; 
Be comforted ; relief is near, 
For all your friends are in the rear." 

She next the stately Bull implored ; 
And thus replied the mighty lord. 
" Since every beast alive can tell 
That I sincerely wish you well, 
I may, without offence, pretend, 
To take the freedom of a friend ; 
Love calls me hence ; a favorite cow 
Expects me near yon barley-mow : 
And when a lady's in the case. 
You know, all other things give place. 
To leave you thus might seem unkind ; 
But see, the Goat is just behind." 

The Goat remarked her pulse was high. 
Her languid head, her heavy eye ; 
" My back," says he, " may do you harm ; 
The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm." 

The Sheep was feeble, and complained 
His sides a load of wool sustained : 
Said he was slow, confessed his fears. 
For hounds eat sheep as well as hares. 

She now the trotting Calf addressed, 
To save from death a friend distressed. 
"Shall I," says he, "of tender age. 
In this important care engage .-• 
Older and abler passed you by ; 
How strong are those, how weak am I ! 



FABLES. 283 

Should I presume to bear you hence, 
Those friends of mine may take offence. 
Excuse me, then. You know my heart. 
But dearest friends, alas ! must part ! 
How shall we all lament : Adieu ! 
For see, the hounds are just in view." 



THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH. 

BY JOHN GAY. 

A Fox, in life's extreme decay, 
Weak, sick, and faint, expiring lay : 
All appetite had left his maw, 
And age disarm'd his mumbling jaw. 
His numerous race around him stand, 
To learn their dying sire's command : 
He raised his head with whining moan, 
And thus was heard the feeble tone : 
" Ah, sons ! from evil ways depart ; 
My crimes lie heavy on my heart. 
See, see the murder'd geese appear! 
Why are those bleeding turkeys here. 
Why all around this cackling train. 
Who haunt my ears for chickens slain } '* 

The hungry foxes round them stared, 
And for the promised feast prepared : 

" Where, Sir, is all this dainty cheer } 
Nor turkey, goose, nor hen, is here. 
These are the phantoms of your brain, 
And your sons lick their lips in vain." 



284 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

" O gluttons ! " says the drooping sire, 
** Restrain inordinate desire : 
Your liquorish taste you shall deplore, 
When peace of conscience is no more. 
Does not the hound betray our pace, 
And gins and guns destroy our race ? 
Thieves dread the searching eye of power, 
And never feel the quiet hour. 
Old age (which few of us shall know) 
Now puts a period to my woe. 
Would you true happiness attain, 
Let honesty your passions reign : 
So live in credit and esteem, 
And the good name you lost redeem." 

"The counsel's good," a Fox replies, 
" Could we perform what you advise. 
Think what our ancestors have done ; 
A line of thieves from son to son : 
To us descends the long disgrace, 
And infamy hath mark'd our race. 
Though we, like harmless sheep, should feed, 
Honest in thought, in word, and deed ; 
Whatever hen-roost is decreased. 
We shall be thought to share the feast. 
The change shall never be believed. 
A lost good name is ne'er retrieved." 

" Nay, then," replies the feeble Fox ; 
" But, hark ! I hear a hen that clucks : 
Go, but be moderate in your food : 
A chicken too, might do me good." 



FABLES. 285 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, 
THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE: 

An unco Mournfu^ Tale. 

BY ROBERT BURNS.^ 

As Mailie and her lambs thegither, 
Were ae day nibbling on the tether. 
Upon her cloot^ she coost a hitch,^ 
And owre she warsled * in the ditch : 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc he cam doytin' ^ by. 

Wi' glowering een ® and lifted hands, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue stands ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended. 
But, waes my heart ! he could na mend it. 
He gaped wide, but naething spak — 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" Oh thou, whose lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear. 
And bear them to my master dear. 

" Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear ^ as buy a sheep, 
O bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 



^ Born in Ayrshire, Scotland, 1759; published first volume of poems, 
1786; second volume, 1787; died, 1796. 

"^ foot, hoof. 3 i-QQ^i ^ hitch, stumbled. * struggled. 

* walking stupidly. ® eyes. ^ much money. 



286 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

But ca' them out to park or hill, 
And let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flock increase, and grow 
To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo' ! 

"Tell him he was a master kin', 
And aye was guid to me and mine ; 
And now my dying charge I gie him — 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 

" Oh, bid him save their harmless lives 
Frae dogs, and tods,^ and butchers' knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill. 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; ^ 
And tent^ them duly, e'en and morn, 
Wi' teats * o' hay, and ripps * o' corn. 

" And may they never learn the gaets 
Of other vile, wanrestfu' pets ; 
'To slink through slaps,^ and reave ^ and st«al 
At stacks o' peas, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great forbears,'^ 
For mony a year come through the shears : 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread, 
And bairns greet ^ for them when they're dead, 

"My poor toop-lamb, my son and heir — 
Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care ; 
And if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some bavins^ in his breast ! 



^ foxes. 2 take care of themselves. ^ care for. 

* handfuls. ^ gates. ^ snatch, 

' ancestors, ^ grieve. ^ manners. 



FABLES. 287 

"And warn him, what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
And no to rin and wear his cloots. 
Like ither menseless,^ graceless brutes. 

" And neist my yowie, silly thing. 
Glide keep thee frae a tether string ; 
Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit,^ moorland toop. 
But aye keep mind to moop and mell^ 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel. 

"And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath 
I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith : 
And when you think upo' your mither, 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

"Now, honest Hughoc, dinna* fail 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 
And bid him burn his cursed tether, 
And, for thy pains, thou's get my blether." ^ 

This said, poor Mailie turned her head, 
And closed her een ^ amans: the dead. 



1 senseless. ^ degenerate. ^ mump and meddle. 

* do not. ^ nonsense. ^ eyes. 



288 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

THE TWA DOGS. 

A Tale. 
BY ROBERT BURNS. 

'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
Upon a bonny day in June, 
When wearing through the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that were na thrang^ at hame, 
Forgathered ^ ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Cassar, 
Was keepit for his honor's pleasure ; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Shewed he was nane o' Scotland's dogs, 
But whalpit^ some place far abroad, 
Whare sailors gang to fish for cod. 

His locked, lettered, braw* brass-collar, 

Shewed him the gentleman and scholar; 

But though he was o' high degree, 

The fient a pride — nae pride had he ; 

But wad hae spent an hour caressin'. 

E'en wi' a tinkler-gipsy's messan.^ 

At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,^ 

Nae tawted tyke,^ though e'er sae duddie,^ 

But he wad stan't, as glad to see him. 

And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him. 



1 much. 2 met together. ^ whelped. * fine 

6 cur. ^ smithy. '' dirty dog. ^ ra; 



FABLES. 289 

The tither^ was a ploughman's collie, 

A rhyming, ranting, roving billie,^ 

Wha for his friend and comrade had him, 

And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 

After some dog in Highland sang, 

Was made lang syne^ — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash * and faithful tyke, 
As ever lap^ a sheugh^ or dike. 
His honest, sonsie'^ baws'nt face, 
Aye gat him friends in ilka^ place. 
His breast was white, his touzie^ back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gaucy -^^ tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hung o'er his hurdles ^^ wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither. 

And unco pack^^ and thick thegither; 

Wi' social nose whyles snuffed and snowkit,^^ 

Whyles^* mice and moudieworts^^ they howkit,^^ 

Whyles scoured awa' in lang excursion. 

And worried ither i' in diversion ; 

Until wi' daffin,^^ weary grown. 

Upon a knowe^^ they sat them down, 

And there began a lang digression 

About the lords o' the creation. 

C^SAR. 

I've aften wondered, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have 

^ other. 2 friend. ^ long ago. * sagacious. 

® leaped. ^ ditch. "^ comely. ^ every. 

^ shaggy. 1" jolly. ^^ hips. ^^ intimate. 

1^ scented. i* sometimes. ^^ moles. 1^ hunted. 

1^ each other. ^^ sporting. ^^ knoll. 



290 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And when the gentry's h'fe I saw, 
What way poor bodies lived ava.^ 

Our laird gets in his racked rents, 

His coals, his kain,^ and a' his stents;^ 

He rises when he likes himsel' ; 

His flunkies answer at the bell ; 

He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 

He draws a bonnie silken purse 

As lang's my tail, whare, through the steeks,* 

The yellow lettered Geordie^ keeks.^ 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
And though the gentry first are stechin,^ 
Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan^ 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic-like trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie 
Our whipper-in, wee^ blastit wonner,^*^ 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner 
Better than ony tenant man 
His honour has in a' the Ian' ; 
And what poor cot-folk pit their painch" in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth Caesar, whyles they're fash't^^ enough; 
A cotter howkin' ^^ in a sheugh,^^ 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin' ^^ a dike, 
Barring ^^ a quarry and sic-like : 



1 at all. 


2 tribute. 


8 dues. 


* stitches. 


6 guinea. 


6 looks. 


' stuffing. 


8 belly. 


9 little. 


1° intruder. 


1^ stomach. 


12 troubled. 


18 digging. 


" ditch. 


16 building. 


16 fencing. 



FABLES. 291 

Himself, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie^ o' wee duddie^ weans.^ 
And nought but his han' darg, to keep 
Them right and tight in thack^ and rape.^ 

And when they meet wi' sair disasters. 
Like loss o' health or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer. 
And they maun^ starve^ o' cauld and hunger; 
But how it comes, I never kenn'd yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented : 
And buirdly chiels,^ and clever hizzies,^ 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

CiESAR. 

But then to see how ye're negleckit. 

How huffed, and cuffed, and disrespeckit ! 

L — , man, our gentry care as little 

For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle ; 

They gang^*^ as saucy by poor folk, 

As I wad by a stinkin' brock.^^ 

I've noticed, on our Laird's court-day, 

And monie a time my heart's been wae,^^ 

Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash. 

How they maun thole ^^ a factor's snash r^* 

He'll stamp and threaten, curse and swear. 

He'll apprehend them, poind ^^ their gear;^^ 

While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, 

And hear it a', and fear and tremble ! 



1 heap. 
5 rope. 
9 lassies. 
18 bear. 


2 ragged. 

8 must. 
10 go. 
1* abuse. 


2 little ones. 

7 die. 
1^ badger. 
15 distrain. 


* thatch. 

* stout lads. 
12 sad 

16 goods. 



292 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ! 

LUATH. 

They're no sae wretched 's ane wad think; 
Though constantly on poortith's^ brink: 
They're sae accustomed wi' the sight, 
The view o' 't gies them little fright. 
Then chance and fortune are sae guided, 
They're aye in less or mair provided ; 
And though fatigued wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest 's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie^ weans and faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fireside ; 
And whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy^ 
Can mak the bodies unco happy. 
They lay aside their private cares. 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts. 
Or tell what new taxation 's comin', 
And ferlie^ at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak- faced Hallowmas returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns, ^ 
When rural life o' every station 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 



1 poverty's. ^ thriving. ^ ale. * wonder. ^ harvest-supper. 



FABLES. 293 

That merry day the year begins, 

They bar the door on frosty win's; 

The nappy reeks wi' mantUng ream,^ 

And sheds a heart-inspiring steam : 

Theluntin'^ pipe, and sneeshin-mill,^ 

Are handed round wi' right guidwill ; 

The cantie auld folks crackin' crouse,* 

The young anes rantin' through the house — 

My heart has been sae fain to see them, 

That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said. 
Sic game is now owre aften played. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont^ fo'k 
Are riven out baith root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel' the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle master, 
Wha aiblins^ thrang a parliamentin', 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin' 



CiESAR. 

Haith^ lad, ye little ken about it ; 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith, I doubt it 
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, 
And saying Ay or No 's they bid him : 
At operas and plays parading. 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft,^ 
To Hague or Calais takes a waft. 



^ foam. 2 smoking. ^ snuff-box. * happy. 

* handsome. ^ perhaps. "^ faith. ^ mad. 



294 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

To mak a tour and tak a whirl, 

To learn bon ton, and see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 

He rives his father's auld entails ; 

Or by Madrid he takes the route. 

To thrum guitars, and fecht^ wi' nowte ;2 

Or down Italian vista startles, 

W hunting amang groves o' myrtles ; 

Then bouses^ drumly^ German water, 
To mak himsel' look fair and fatter, 
And clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 

For Britain's guid ! — for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, and faction. 

LUATH. 

Hech, man! dear sirs! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw^ estate ! 
Are we sae foughten and harassed 
For gear^ to gang that gate at last ! 

Oh would they stay aback frae courts, 
And please themsel's wi' country sports, 
It wad for every ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, and the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, rantin', ramblin' billies, 
Fient haet'' o' them 's ill-hearted fellows ; 
Except for breakin' o' their timmer, 
Or speakin' lightly o' their limmer,^ 



1 fight. 2 cattle. 8 drinks. * muddy. 

6 fine. * wealth. ' no one. ^ mistress. 



FABLES. 295 

Or shootin' o' a hare or moorcock, 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master Cassar, 
Sure great folk's life 's a life o' pleasure ; 
Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them. 
The very thought o' 't needna fear them. 

CESAR. 

L — , man, were ye but whyles whare I am, 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 
It 's true they needna starve or sweat. 
Through winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They 've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 
And fill auld age wi' grips and granes ; 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them. 
They mak enow themsel's to vex them ; 
And aye the less they hae to sturt^ them, 
In like proportion less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh. 

His acre 's tilled, he 's right eneugh ; 

A country girl at her wheel. 

Her dizzen^ 's done, she 's unco weel : 

But gentlemen, and ladies warst, 

Wi' even-down want o' wark are curst. 

They loiter, lounging, lank, and lazy ; 

Though deil haet^ ails them, yet uneasy ; 

Their days insipid, dull, and tastless ; 

Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless. 

^ molest. ^ dozen. ^ nothing. 



296 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

And e'en their sports, their balls and races, 
Their galloping through public places, 
There 's sic parade, sic pomp and art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party matches. 
Then sowther^ a' in deep debauches ; 
Ae night they 're mad wi' drink and w — ing, 
Niest^ day their life is past enduring. 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They 're a' run deils and jads thegither. 
Whyles o'er the wee bit cup and platie. 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, 
Pore owre the devil's pictured beuks ;^ 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stack yard. 
And cheat like ony unhanged blackguard. 
There 's some exception, man and woman ; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
And darker gloaming brought the night : 
The bum-clock^ hummed wi' lazy drone; 
The kye^ stood rowtin'^ i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs. 
Rejoiced they were na men, but dogs ; 
And each took aff his several way, 
Resolved to meet some ither day. 

1 make up for. ^ next. 8 playing cards. 

* beetle. * cows. * lowing. 



FABLES. 297 

THE RETIRED CAT. 

BY WILLIAM COWPER,! 

A Poet's Cat, sedate and grave 

As poet well could wish to have, 

Was much addicted to inquire 

For nooks to which she might retire, 

And where, secure as mouse in chink, 

She might repose, or sit and think. 

I know not where she caught the trick ; 

Nature perhaps herself had cast her 

In such a mould philosophique, 

Or else she learned it of her master. 

Sometimes ascending, debonair. 

An apple-tree, or lofty pear. 

Lodged with convenience in the fork, 

She watched the gardener at his work ; 

Sometimes her ease and solace sought 

In an old empty watering-pot. 

There wanting nothing, save a fan, 

To seem some nymph in her sedan, 

Appareled in exactest sort. 

And ready to be borne to court. 

But love of change it seems has place 
Not only in our wiser race ; 
Cats also feel, as well as we, 
That passion's force, and so did she. 



^ Born at Great Berkhamstead, England, 1731 ; wrote "Table Talk," 
" The Task," "Tirocinium," " John Gilpin," etc.; died at East Dereham, 
1800. 



298 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

Her climbing, she began to find, 
Exposed her too much to the wind, 
And the old utensil of tin 
Was cold and comfortless within : 
She therefore wished, instead of those, 
Some place of more serene repose, 
Where neither cold might come, nor air 
Too rudely wanton in her hair, 
And sought it in the likeliest mode 
Within her master's snug abode. 

A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined 
With linen of the softest kind, 
With such as merchants introduce 
From India, for the ladies' use; 
A drawer, impending o'er the rest, 
Half open, in the topmost chest, 
Of depth enough, and none to spare, 
Invited her to slumber there ; 
Puss with delight beyond expression. 
Surveyed the scene and took possession. 
Recumbent at her ease, ere long, 
And lulled by her own humdrum song, 
She left the cares of life behind, 
And slept as she would sleep her last, 
When in came, housewifely inclined. 
The chambermaid, and shut it fast, 
By no malignity impelled, 
But all unconscious whom it held. 

Awakened by the shock (cried puss) 
" Was ever cat attended thus ! 



FABLES. 



299 



The open drawer was left, I see, 

Merely to prove a nest for me, 

For soon as I was well composed, 

Then came the maid, and it was closed. 

How smooth those 'kerchiefs, and how sweet ? 

Oh what a delicate retreat ! 

I will resign myself to rest 

Till Sol declining in the west. 

Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, 

Susan will come, and let me out." 

The evening came, the sun descended, 
And puss remained still unattended. 
The night rolled tardily away 
(With her indeed 'twas never day), 
The sprightly morn her course renewed, 
The evening gray again ensued. 
And puss came into mind no more 
Than if entombed the day before ; 
With hunger pinched, and pinched for room. 
She now presaged approaching doom. 
Nor slept a single wink, nor purred. 
Conscious of jeopardy incurred. 

That night, by chance, the poet watching. 
Heard an inexplicable scratching ; 
His noble heart went pit-a-pat. 
And to himself he said — " What's that ? " 
He drew the curtain at his side. 
And forth he peeped, but nothing spied. 
Yet, by his ear directed, guessed 
Something imprisoned in the chest ; 
And, doubtful what, with prudent care 
Resolved it should continue there. 



300 THE FAMOUS ALLEGORIES. 

At length a voice which well he knew, 

A long and melancholy mew, 

Saluting his poetic ears, 

Consoled him, and dispelled his fears; 

He left his bed, he trod the floor. 

He 'gan in haste the drawers explore, 

The lowest first, and without stop 

The next in order to the top. 

For 'tis a truth well known to most, 

That whatsoever thing is lost. 

We seek it, ere it come to light. 

In every cranny but the right. 

Forth skipped the cat, not now replete 

As erst with airy self-conceit, 

Nor in her own fond comprehension, 

A theme for all the world's attention, 

But modest, sober, cured of all. 

Her notions hyperbolical. 

And wishing for a place of rest. 

Any thing rather than a chest. 

Then stepped the poet into bed 

With this reflection in his head : 

MORAL. 

Beware of too sublime a sense 
Of your own worth and consequence. 
The man who dreams himself so great. 
And his importance of such weight. 
That all around in all that's done 
Must move and act for him alone. 
Will learn in school of tribulation 
The folly of his expectation. 



INDEX. 



[The titles of complete allegories are printed in Italics or in small capitals. The titles 
of selections or extracts quoted in this volume are enclosed in quotation marks. Refer- 
ences to the Notes, biographical or explanatory, and to some other matters of special 
interest, are printed in Roman without quotation marks.] 



A. 

Addison, Joseph, 223. 

" Adonis, The Garden of," 126. 

Aecidee, 153. 

Agdistes, 152. 

Age of Allegory, 16. 

" Age, Old," 87. 

Aikin, Dr. John, 259. 

Allegory, Age of, 16. 

Allegory, Origin of, 9. 

Alliterative Poetry, 18. 

Amaranth, 151. 

Amintas, 151. 

Anglo-Saxon Allegories, 13. 

Argo, 151. 

Ariadne, 153. 

Ate, 150. 

Avernus, 149. 

Aveugles sonne, 150. 



B. 

Barclay, Alexander, 85. 

beads, 148. 

beare the bell, 153. 

" Beasts' Confession, The," 272. 

Bestiary, The English, 14. 

Bible Allegories, 9. 

Birds, Catalogue of, 63. 

" Bower of Bliss, The," 131, 151. 

Bunyan, John, 156. 

Burns, Robert, 285. 



" Celestial City, The," 205. 

Catalogue of Birds, 63. 

Catalogue of Trees, 62, 102. 

Chaucer, Geoffrey, 36. 

cherubins, 186. 

chide, 147. 

Church, R. W., quoted, 96. 

Colin Clout, 152. 

" Colin Clout and his Faire Lassie," 

140. 
Collins, William, 251. 
Complaint of the Papingo, 83. 
" Confession, The Beasts'," 272. 
" Conscience the Preacher," 28. 
" Country Mouse, The," 269. 
Courts of Love, 46. 
Cowley, Abraham, 269. 
Cowper, William, 297. 
Creiisa, 152. 

Cuckow, The, and the Nightingale, 56. 
Culver, The, 14. 
cypresse funerall, 148. 



D. 

Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins, 75. 
" Death and Dying Words of Poor 

Mailie," 284. 
" Desert, A Terrible," 82. 
divorced, 148. 
" Domus Dedali," 69. 



301 



302 



INDEX. 



Douglas, Gawain, 80. 

Dreme, The, 83. 

" Drowsiness, The Land of," 231. 

Dunbar, William, 71. 



" Envy," 30, 

eye of heaven, 148. 



F. 

Fables : 
The Trees and the Bramble, 10. 
The Cuckow and the Nightingale, 

The Parlament of Foules, 59. 

The Complaint of the Papingo, 83. 

The Oak and the Briar, 264. 

The Country Mouse, 269. 

The Beasts' Confession, 272, 

The Man and the Flea, 279. 

The Hare with Many Friends, 281. 

The Fox at the Point of Death, 283. 

Death and Dying Words of Poor 
Mailie, 284. 

The Twa Dogs, 288. 

The Retired Cat, 297. 
Faerie Qufene, The, 92. 
" False Semblante no Hermit," 43. 
Fatne, The House of, 66. 
Fletcher, Phineas, 90. 
Florimel, 152. 

" Florimel and the Witch's Son," 135. 
Flower and the Leaf, The, 51. 
Fooles, 7 he Shyp of, 85. 
Fools, The Paradise of, 224. 
Foules, The Parlament of 59. 
" Fox, The, at the Point of Death," 283. 
Franklin, Benjamin, 257. 
Friars, Five orders of, 25. 
Froude, J. A., quoted, 160. 



' Garden of Adonis, The," 126. 
' Garden of Proserpina, The," 124. 



Gay, John, 279. 

Genius, 150. 

gent, 152. 

Gesta Romanorum, 15. 

Glasse, The Temple of, 76. 

Gloriana, 154. 

" Goddess of Fame, The Hall of the," 

67. 
Golden Terge, The, 73. 
Graces, The, 153. 
Grand Amour and Bel Puce II, 77. 
Greek Allegories, 11. 

H. 

" Hall of the Goddess of Fame," 67. 

" Hare, The, with Many Friends," 281. 

Hart, King, 81. 

Hawes, Stephen, 76. 

Hazlitt, William, quoted, 99. 

" Hera and Sleep," 12. 

Hercules, The Choice of, 13. 

Hesperides, The, 150. 

" Hill of Science, The," 259. 

Hippolytus, 149. 

Homer, quoted, 12. 

Honour, The Palice of, 82. 

House of Fa7>ie, The, 66. 

" Hunger, The Advice of," 33. 

Hunt, Leigh, quoted, 98. 

Hyacinthus, 151. 

" Hypocrisy," 40. 

L 

Imagination and Fancy, 7. 
imply, 151. 

Indolence, The Castle of, 230. 
" Induction to the Mirror for Magis- 
trates," 87. 
" Interpreter's House, The," 189. 



Johnson, Samuel, 250. 
"Journey, The, of a Day," 246. 



INDEX, 



303 



" Journey, The Beginning of the," i8o. 
Juno's golden chayre, 149. 



K. 



King Hart, 81. 
kynds, 150. 



" Labyrinth of Rumor, The," 69. 

Lang, Andrew, quoted, 81. 

Langland, William, 17. 

laurell, 148. 

leman, 148. 

" L'Envoie," 55. 

Lorris, Guillaume de, 34. 

loord, 152. 

Love, the Court of, 46. 

" Love, The God of," 44. 

Lyndesay, Sir David, 83. 

M. 

Macaulay, Lord, quoted, 215. 

" Man, The, and the Flea," 279. 

" May a Man beg ? " 45. 

" May-day and the Birds," 49. 

Meung, Jean de, 35. 

Mirror for Magistrates, The, 86. 

" Mirza, The Vision of," 217. 

Monarchic, The, 83. 

Morley, Henry, quoted, 23, 

" Morning Walk, A," 53. 

Myth, Origin of, 9. 

N. 

" Narcissus, The Story of," 41. 
Nature, Personification of, 8. 
newfanglenesse, 149. 

O. 

" Oak, The, and the Briar," 264. 
" Old Age," 87. 
Origin of Allegory, 9. 



Palice of Honour, The, 82. 
Papingo, Complaint of the, 83. 
Parables : 

The Vine out of Egypt, 11. 

The True Vine, ii. 

The Whale, 14. 

The Culver, 14. 

The Victorious King, 15. 

A Parable against Persecution, 256. 
" Paradise of Fools, The," 224. 
Parlament of Pottles, The, 59. 
Parnell, Thomas, 229. 
" Parthenia," 91. 
" Passions, The," 251. 
" Passions, The Procession of the," 114. 
Pastime of Pleasure, The, 77. 
" Persecution, A Parable Against," 

256. 
Phlegeton, 149. 
Physiologus, The, 14. 
Piers Ploughman, The Vision of 

William Concerning, 17. 
pilie, 24. 

Pilgrim's Progress, The, 156. 
Poetry, Alliterative, 18. 
" Prayers," 11. 

" Procession of the Passions," 114. 
Prodicus, Greek Sophist, 13. 
" Proserpina, The Garden of," 124. 
Purple Island, The, 91. 

Q. 

queth him quite, 43. 

raft, 148. 

" Red Cross Knight, First Adventure 

of the," 100. 
rely, 24. 

" Retired Cat, The," 297. 
Roman de la Rose, 34. 
Romaunt of the Rose, 34. 
" Rosiall," 48. 
ruel, 24. 
ruth, 24. 



304 



INDEX. 



S. 
Saadi, 258. 

Scipio Africanus, 59, 60. 

seraphim, 186. 

Seven Deadly Sins, The Dance of the, 

75- 
Shelley, quoted, 12. 
Shyp of Fooles, The, 85. 
Sidney, Sir Philip, 152. 
" Sir Industry," 239. 
soveraine, 147. 
Spectator, The, 223. 
Spenser, Edmund, 92, 147. 
Spenser's wife, Elizabeth, 154. 
Spheres, Music of the, 60. 
St. Fraunces fire, 149. 
Swift, Jonathan, 272. 



T. 

Taine, H. A., quoted, 52, 99, 146. 
Taylor, Jeremy, 258. 
Temple of Glasse, The, 76. 
Thistle, The, and the Rose, 71. 
Thomson, James, 245. 



thorough, 148. 

" Tower of Truth, The," 31. 

Trees, Catalogues of, 62, 102. 

" Trees, The, and the Bramble," lo. 

Troubadours, The, 46. . 

" Truth, The Tower of," 31. 

" Twa Dogs, The," 288. 

U. 
" Una and the Lion," ill. 



V. 

"Vine, The," 11. 

" Vision of Mirza, The," 217. 

W. 

Ward, Humphry, quoted, note, 37. 

Warton, Thomas, quoted, 83, 89. 

wend, 148. 

" Whale, The," 14. 

wildings, 152. 

willow, 148. 



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